


Too Pure for Your Own Good

by An_Odd_Idea



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: All the Kidnapping, Bad Acting, Beck is pretty evil, Deception, Emotional Manipulation, Fake Kidnapping, Fake injuries, Gen, Holding for ransom, Hurt/Comfort, Illusions, It Gets Dark Though, Kidnapped Peter Parker, Lab days, Loss of Powers, Mainly emotional whump, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker Whump, Psychological Torture, Real Kidnapping, Scared Peter Parker, Threats, Tony didn’t fire Beck, Whump, hurt then comfort, pre-IW, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22228489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_Odd_Idea/pseuds/An_Odd_Idea
Summary: Peter meets Quentin Beck while at the tower to work in the lab with Tony.  They become friends, but Beck has other motives: he sees Peter as the key to get what he wants from Tony, by any means necessary.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Quentin Beck, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 203
Kudos: 457





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place sometime after Homecoming, but before Infinity War. (Or maybe IW never happens, whatever you want to imagine.) Tony didn’t fire Quentin Beck, but BARF is still a thing.
> 
> Tony also still lives at the tower because it’s simpler that way.
> 
> Please do not copy, print, or reproduce outside this site, I don’t want to get sued.

  
Peter was pretty sure Tony’s lab was the nicest place in the world. 

There was always something interesting to do; pieces of a dozen different projects were scattered all around and on top of each other, easy to find if you knew where to look. On the few occasions that Pepper ventured in, she called it a mess. Tony called it “organized chaos”. Peter sometimes felt like he was part of a secret club, as the only other person who had any idea how anything worked.

Tony always had music playing while they worked, and it was as much a part of the lab as the robots and the tools and the suits. The whole place smelled like metal and oil with just a whiff of expensive aftershave, and over everything was a faint but prevalent scent of burned. It reminded Peter of laughter, experiments gone wrong, experiments gone _right_ , and DUM-E chasing them around with the fire extinguisher.

Besides all that, there were usually snacks. Sometimes pizza rolls.

But by far the nicest thing about Tony’s lab was Tony himself. Over time, the thrill of working with _Tony freaking Stark_ had worn off, but it had been replaced with a sort of easy familiarity that Peter liked much better. Sometimes they babbled science at each other until they were both out of breath. Other times, they worked for hours with hardly a word said between them, but it didn’t make Peter’s heart race like other silences did. 

On days when a project took longer than expected, Peter called home to say he’d be late, and they ordered pizza or Chinese to eat while they worked. Once, Tony had insisted on driving him home himself because: “Happy’s not gonna buy you ice cream even if it is named after you, kid”.

Today was a good day, because today was Friday, and Friday was Lab Day. 

It would still be a pretty good day even without the lab, Peter amended to himself, just to be fair. The air was just starting to get cooler, with that whiff that said fall was coming, and even though Peter hated the cold, he liked fall. They had been allowed to listen to their music in study hall, and although Peter had forgotten his headphones, Yasmin turned hers up too loud, and he discovered that musical soundtracks could be, if not exactly his favorite, vaguely enjoyable at least. It was far less enjoyable to wait for the elevator at the Tower with the melancholy strains of “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” still wafting through his head. Then again, nobody was around, and the lobby had great acoustics, and FRIDAY would _probably_ not show the video to Tony.

“The trUth is, I NEVER left you!” The elevator dinged. “All through my wild days, my mad existence,” Peter flung his arms wide and strode into the elevator with his eyes closed. “I kept my PROMIIIIII-“

He walked right into something solid, which let out a surprised “Oof!” and wrapped hands around his shoulders to push him off. His eyes flew open, and he found himself face to face with a bearded man he had never seen before.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted, hastily backing toward the still-open door. “I’m really sorry, sir, I didn’t see you, cause I uh- had my eyes closed and... yeah, I’m just gonna- Bye!” He’d almost made it to the door, safe from any further awkwardness, and then with any luck he’d never have to see this man again.

“Weren’t you going somewhere, kid?”

“Oh.” It might be even more awkward to get on an elevator, crash into someone, and then immediately leave. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Peter stepped back inside, hit the right button, and stared straight ahead at the closing doors.

“So _Evita_?” said the stranger.

“What?” Peter squeaked.

“You were singing it.”

“Right.” Peter’s face felt hot. “Yeah.”

“You a theater person?”

“Not really.” Peter shoved his hands into his pockets and watched the floor numbers move. “Just somebody in my class. I forgot my headphones.”

“You should try it out sometime. You’ve got quite a flair for the dramatic.”

Peter’s face felt, if possible, even hotter. “Thanks.”

“Would it be too rude to ask what you’re doing here?” said the stranger.

“No.”

“So, you’re going to tell me?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. I’m an intern.”

The man’s reddish brown eyebrows furrowed. “You might be in the wrong place, kid. This is HQ.”

Peter’s stomach dropped nervously. He was never sure how much to tell SI employees to both keep them from getting suspicious and keep himself from getting kicked out before Tony even knew he was there. “I-I’m here to see Mr. Stark?”

The man chuckled. “Good luck with that. Even I’m lucky not to get chased out if I show my face near the boss’s lab.”

Peter allowed himself a moment to gloat internally, but he tried not to let it show. He fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket.

“I’m on my way to make an attempt, too,” said the stranger. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t eat you.”

“Thanks.”

The man smiled warmly. “Least I can do for a kid your age. I”m Quentin, by the way.” He stuck out his hand. “Quentin Beck.”

“Peter Parker.” Peter shook the hand that was offered. “Nice to meet you.”

The elevator doors opened to the lab, where Tony was pacing back and forth in front of a screen with a piece of burnt-looking metal in his hand. He didn’t look up until Beck opened the door for Peter.

“Hey Pete,” he said with a smile that immediately turned to a scowl. “Beck.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Not now.”

“But it’s about-“

“Not now,” said Tony, turning back to Peter. “You’ll want to call your aunt; we’re on the edge of a breakthrough and I don’t want you to miss it.”

Glowing with importance, Peter scurried to his spot at the workbench.

“It’s about my-“ Beck tried again.

“Bonus is still on the table. That’s it.” Tony patted Peter on the shoulder as he cruised past. “Good day?”

“Yeah. I can wait if you guys need to talk.”

“Nope. We have things to do.” Tony pointed to the elevator. “Out.”

Beck opened his mouth, shut it again, and gave Peter a strange look before retreating.

“Was he bothering you?” Tony asked.

“No?” said Peter. “He just wanted to talk about musicals.”

“If he ever does bother you, let me know.”

There was something more going on here than a pesky employee, Peter was almost sure. “He seemed really nice. What’s his deal?”

“He’s crazy, that’s his deal.” Tony set down a pair of pliers with a little more force than was probably necessary. “He’s mad about the name I gave something he developed, even though it was _never_ in his contract that he got to name _anything_ , and now he’s insisting I give the entire project back to him to do what he wants with. While keeping the money I paid him for it. And asking for more. He’s just-“ 

Tony took a breath. “Sorry, you didn’t need to hear all that.” He patted the pliers and touched Peter’s shoulder again, just lightly, as if to reassure them both that they weren’t the target of his annoyance. 

“I crashed into him singing Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” said Peter, suddenly remembering and hoping to lighten the mood with something Tony would laugh at.

Tony made a noise somewhere between a snort and the sound a llama might make if someone told it a really funny joke. “I’m sorry, you _what_?”

“I had it stuck in my head and I wasn’t looking when I got on the elevator,” said Peter with mostly-feigned embarrassment. “It’s really this girl at school’s fault; she had her music too loud.”

“I’m going to ignore your friend’s highly unusual taste, is that why he wanted to talk musicals?”

“Yeah.”

“What a weirdo.” Tony was smiling agin, and Peter felt accomplished.

“Me or him?”

“Yes.”

“Gee, thanks Mr. Stark.”

“Always my pleasure.” Tony clapped his hands. “Now to work! Look alive, DUM-E!”

~

The next Friday, Beck greeted him with a cheery wave in the lobby like he’d been waiting for him. “Peter-the-intern! Do you take requests? I’ve always liked _Les_ _Mis_.”

Peter’s face went a little warm. He hadn’t exactly wanted to see him again, and especially not so soon.

“I’m messing with you,” Beck chuckled and punched him in the arm. “It’s only fair, though; you were holding out on me last week.”

“Y-yeah?” Peter wondered how long he’d have to fake it before he figured out what Beck was talking about.

“Here you are, waltzing into Stark’s personal lab- practically on a first-name basis- and you just let me worry about how to keep him from throwing you out a window.” Beck only sounded fake-mad, and he was still laughing, but Peter felt bad anyway.

“Sorry.”

“You apologize too much, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t help it. “Sorry.”

“There it is again. Well, go on,” Beck waved him toward the elevator. “And whatever spell you’ve put the boss under, I wouldn’t mind learning.”

“Thanks.” That was a stupid response, but Peter didn’t know what else to say. The elevator dinged, and he made his escape.

Beck was there the next week, too, and the next. As time went by, he became almost as much a fixture of the tower as FRIDAY was; he was always there, never doing much of anything, seemingly just waiting to say hello.

One day, though, Beck didn’t greet him with his usual cheerful wave, but with a serious expression that made Peter feel like he’d tipped his chair back too far. Something was wrong. Tony had gotten fed up and didn’t want to see him anymore, or something terrible had happened and he was dying, and it was probably Peter’s fault on some way that he didn’t know yet.

“Hey Peter, I hate to ask you this, but I need a favor,” said Beck.

Was that it? Then again, the favor was probably for Peter to stop being so annoying and weird or something like that. “Sure.”

“I had this project, you see.” Beck put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and led him toward the window. “Not really a project, more like my life’s work, the best thing I ever created, and Stark took it and gave it a stupid name. I know it sounds petty, but it’s really important to me.”

Peter had completely forgotten about that. 

“I usually wouldn’t ask a kid for anything like this, but since you’ve got Stark wrapped around your finger like you do, do you think you could put in a word for me?”

“Um,” said Peter intelligently. 

“Just a little word,” Beck pleaded wrapping an arm just tight enough around Peter’s shoulders to keep him from stepping away. “Not anything that would get you in trouble.”

“I-“ Peter couldn’t think straight with his heart speeding up in discomfort. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing big, nothing specific, just mention something, say you overheard, something about thinking it’s unfair. He’ll listen to you.”

“Didn’t you make the thing for Stark Industries, though?” said Peter in a small voice.

“That doesn’t give him the right.” There was a hint of a snarl in Beck’s voice. and he squeezed Peter’s shoulder a little too tightly.

“I mean... kinda.”

“You don’t get it either, do you?” Beck released Peter, who quickly stepped out of his reach. “Nobody ever does. My life’s work stolen from me, and nobody cares.”

“Mr. Stark didn’t steal-“

“I don’t care about the money.” Beck glared an acid hole in the floor. “He took it, that’s the important thing.” He sighed, and all the anger went out of his face to be replaced by sadness. “Here I thought I was a little more important to you than the guy who you bumped into in the elevator that time.”

“You are!” Peter exclaimed instantly. “I’ll- I’ll ask him, if you really want me to.”

“Peter, you’re a lifesaver.” Beck laid a hand on his shoulder again. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.” 

Peter hurried to the elevator and down to the safety of Tony’s lab. He inhaled deeply when the familiar smell of metal and grease and burned mixed with Tony’s aftershave met his nose.

“Hey kid,” said Tony with a brief glance in his general direction. “School okay?”

“Yeah.” Peter hoped his voice didn’t sound too nervous. “Yeah, it was good.”

“I need to finish this up. How are your web fluid supplies?”

“Low,” said Peter. “I’ll make more.” He set his backpack down as quietly as he could and tiptoed to find the supplies.

“You’re acting weird,” said Tony without looking up.

“O-oh?” Peter cleared his throat. “No, I’m not.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m not!”

“You’re sneaking around; it’s weird.” Tony put down what he was working on. Peter barely remembered his dad, but he was pretty sure that was the most _dad_ look anyone had ever given him. “You gonna tell me?”

“Well...”

“Well?” Tony mimicked.

“Mr. Beck kinda wanted me to ask you something.”

“Oh good lord.” Tony clapped a hand to his forehead. “Is he messing with you? Cause I can-“

“No no, it’s fine!” said Peter hurriedly. “He’s cool. He just wanted me to talk to you about the thing he made and say you were unfair about giving it a dumb name or something, which I don’t really think, but I didn’t want to say no, and I didn’t want to lie, so now I told you and I’m done.” He took a breath.

Tony just looked at him for a long moment before he spoke. “You wanna know the whole deal?”

“Sure?”

“This could take a while.” Peter took the cue to sit down, and Tony continued. “Beck developed a highly sophisticated drone-based projection system, able to create hyper-realistic simulations, perfect for desensitization therapy, reframing traumatic memories, that sort of thing. Really good stuff. I called it Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, BARF for short, and he didn’t like that.”

Peter almost giggled despite himself.

“ _Hated_ it, you should have seen his face. Anyway,” Tony continued. “I told him my company, my name, but of course he didn’t care, and then he came to me with a whole new plan to weaponize the thing. I said no, and that was when he started saying I stole it and demanding to have it back like you saw.” Tony shook his head. “Crazy, like I said. Don’t let him bully you, and if he tries, you get me.”

“Okay.” Peter smiled a little bit at the idea of Tony showing up to verbally throw down with anyone for him. “What should I tell him you said?”

“Don’t tell him anything. This is between me and him, and we’re about to have words.”

“Okay.”

“Good,” said Tony, standing up and brushing his hands together. “All better?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Stark.” Peter stopped when a guilty thought occurred to him. “You’re not gonna fire him, right? He’s just being dumb.”

“Call me paranoid, but I’d rather let him cool off,” said Tony. “I have a history of almost getting murdered over business decisions, which I would like not to continue.” He turned casually back to his work.

“Wait a minute.” Peter got up to chase after him. “You think he might...”

“Jeez kid, loosen up!” Tony laughed. “Like I said, paranoid.”

Peter relaxed and went back to mixing web fluid with only a tiny seed of anxiety resting in his mind.

~ 

The next week, Beck was waiting for him again.

“Boss figured us out, huh?” he said, draping an arm conspiratorially around Peter’s shoulders. 

“Yeah.” Peter hoped he sounded apologetic enough.

“That’s okay, it was a long shot anyway.” Beck chuckled. “He gave me quite the earful, though, something about using kids for selfish gain, which is a little rich coming from him, if you ask me.”

“Heh.” Peter squirmed. “Speaking of asking you, I forgot my headphones again, and Yasmin had this song that went like-“

“Think about it,” Beck plowed ahead. “What’s he got you working on all the time? Projects? Did you ever stop and think about who they’re actually benefiting?”

“Uh...”

“If you want to get what’s yours, you’re going to have to take it.”

“I’m not sure...” Peter looked toward the elevator, but no help came from it.

“You’ve got it easy, too,” said Beck. “You have access to the lab, for hours at a time, _with_ Stark, working with him. You could get into all kinds of things, figure out his access codes, anything you want!”

“Yeah.” Peter laughed uncomfortably and ducked out from under the heavy arm. “Look, Mr. Beck, I should really go.”

“Just think about it.”

“What?”

“You deserve to get what’s yours, Peter.”

“I’m good.”

“You sure? I could help you.”

Peter’s heart beat fast, and he rounded on Beck more fiercely than he intended to. “Mr. Stark’s not stealing anything from me- or you, and that’s just... _wrong_.”

“Whoa, easy there.” Beck raised his hands in surrender. “Just trying to look out for you.”

“I can look out for myself,” Peter snapped.

“Fair enough. Hey, I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.” 

“It’s fine.” Peter was already headed for the elevator.

It was a relief to be back in the lab with Tony. It was even more of a relief when Beck was nowhere to be seen the next week, although Peter felt bad admitting that. At the same time, he almost wished Beck _would_ be there before he left so he could apologize for snapping at him. He wasn’t, but Peter told himself that was probably for the best, all things considered.

But the next week, who should be waiting in the lobby but the man himself, smiling kindly like nothing had happened.

“Hey Peter,” he said, moving to hug him but changing it to a hand on the shoulder at the last second. “Sorry if I weirded you out the other day. I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

Peter felt even worse. “It’s okay,” he mumbled. “Sorry I got mad at you.”

“No offense, but you’re about as scary as a cupcake when you’re mad.”

“Yeah...” Peter laughed a little.

“So we good?”

“We’re good.”

“Great.” Beck lowered his voice. “Technically, I’m not supposed to be here, Stark’s orders. He thinks I’m bothering you or something.”

“I’m sor-“

“Nope, you apologize too much as it is. That’s on him.” Beck gave him a mischievous smile. “He’ll forget all about it soon, you watch.”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble,” said Peter.

“Ah, kid,” said Beck fondly. “You’re too pure for your own good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, and welcome to Chapter Two! I really appreciate everyone who read the first one, and thank you for your encouraging comments.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter takes it up a notch and starts to fulfill some of the promises I made in the first one.

  
It hadn’t been a good day. 

It was cold, so cold that Peter’s fingers stayed stiff through most of first period and made his notes sloppy, with exams coming. Flash seemed to have made it a special mission to torment him that week, like he usually did around the holidays for some reason. Happy, as usual, didn’t live up to his name, even with May’s misshapen gingerbread. Peter couldn’t wait to get to the lab.

As it had been for a while, there was no Beck waiting for him in the lobby, and Peter was almost starting to miss him. Sighing, he hit the button to close the elevator door faster and leaned against the wall. He entertained a mental image of himself walking right up to Tony and leaning on him, too, and he wondered how much that would weird his mentor out. Better not to risk it, just in case they still weren’t there yet.

The elevator stopped sooner than Peter expected. He’d thought he had every sound and movement and second memorized, but apparently he didn’t. That, or he had just zoned out for a minute, which was also a distinct possibility. The doors opened, and a wave of anxiety hit him even before he stepped out. Something was wrong.

Almost without realizing it, he had begun to associate the lab with a feeling of safety, but that was gone, and in its place was a creeping sense of dread. The place felt unfamiliar, and it took him more seconds than it should have to realize the quiet was the reason. Tony’s usual music had been replaced by silence, with a strange, half-imagined hum buzzing just below the surface. That, and there was something wrong with the way the air felt, but that was probably just him being weird. Tony himself was still there, bent over something at his workbench, and Peter relaxed. 

“Hi Mr. Stark.”

Tony, barely looked up, only acknowledging him with a grunt. That wasn’t entirely uncommon, so Peter took it as a signal to do his own thing until Tony finished whatever he was working on. Web fluid could probably use re-stocking anyway. With a strange tightness still lingering in his chest from goodness-knew-what, he turned.

The stack of parts on the table seemed to materialize from nowhere. Maybe Tony had rearranged, or Peter’s memory was faulty, or he really hadn’t seen it a second ago. At any rate, his backpack made short work of the stack, sending the pieces clattering to the ground with a tremendous clanging. He cringed.

“Could you not?” Tony grumbled, putting a screwdriver down with an sharp clunk.

“Sorry.” Peter hurried to pick everything up but was stopped again by Tony’s voice.

“You know what, leave it. Just leave it alone.” Tony glared. “I’ve had about enough of you messing with my stuff anyway.”

“But-“

“Ah, you know what else I’ve had about enough of?” Tony stood up, slamming the helmet he’d been fixing down on the table. “You _talking_. All the time; do you _ever_ stop?”

Peter couldn’t breathe right.

“Look at that, he does stop, but not when I need him to.”

“I can leave if you want.” Peter’s voice came out angrier than he meant it to, just to keep it from shaking.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Tony turned back to his work.

“ _Fine_.” 

Peter snatched his backpack and darted for the elevator as fast as he could without actually running, slamming the door-close button. 

“And stay out!” Tony shot after him.

Peter’s heart beat entirely too fast, and it felt like his ribs had become too stiff to expand anymore, which was a problem because he really needed to take a deep breath or he was going to start crying. The elevator was stopping, far too soon, and he wiped frantically at his eyes, not wanting to explain while trying to save face for both Tony and himself. It didn’t do much good, and he turned quickly away from whoever came in when the doors opened.

“Peter?” 

He didn’t look up.

“Rough day?” said Beck.

Yes, very rough day. Peter nodded, staring at the corner of the elevator with his vision rapidly blurring with tears again.

“Think Stark would let you take the afternoon off?”

Ordinarily, yes, although Peter would never want to ask. Or maybe he wouldn’t let him- now he wasn’t so sure of anything about Tony. He choked on the beginnings of a sniffle.

“Hey.” Hands turned him gently around, but he ducked his head to keep from having to face Beck with his red eyes. “What’s going on?”

“He’s really mad at me,” Peter whispered, not trusting his voice to go any louder.

“Who’s mad?”

“Mr. Stark.”

“What’s his problem?”

“I knocked some stuff over and he just got r-really mad.”

“And he threw you out?”

“I left.”

“Good,” said Beck firmly.

“I just-“ Peter had to stop for a moment to keep his voice from cracking any worse than it already was. “I just don’t know w-what I did. He was always so-“

“Aw, kid.” Beck moved to hug him, and Peter was grateful when he didn’t, because then he’d have really started crying. The hand that rubbed up and down his arm was almost too much, but he held it together.

“Tony’s... different.” Beck sighed. “He doesn’t have a filter on what he says, not like most people. You’re really more mature than him most of the time, and he doesn’t deserve you. Not at all.”

The words sounded nice, but they weren’t particularly helpful. Peter fought a childish desire to slump forward and bury his head against the man’s chest.

“Hey, listen to me,” said Beck with a squeeze of Peter’s arm. “You’re the nicest, smartest kid I know, and if Tony doesn’t know how to treat you like a human being, that’s on him. You don’t need to put up with that. I’m glad you left.”

“I just got mad back.”

“You had every right. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Happy’s-“

“Busy, and unlikely to buy you hot chocolate. Let’s go.”

~

Peter stared down at the white lid and let the warmth seep into his fingers through the paper cup. It was probably cool enough to drink by now, but his stomach felt too full of something nasty and heavy to want anything else.

“Feeling any better?”

“A little,” he lied.

“You planning on drinking that?”

“Yeah.” That was hopefully not a lie, but Peter didn’t move to make it true.

Beck raised an eyebrow at him while he sipped his coffee.

“Sorry.” Peter took the smallest drink possible and forced a smile. 

“Poor kid,” Beck chuckled sympathetically. 

“I’m okay.”

“It’s not right. People like Tony get to do whatever they want, but people like you and me are the ones who have to live with it.”

Peter sighed. Tony’s words still rang in his head, sharp and unexpected and all the more harsh because of it. Maybe not completely unexpected; he _was_ pretty irritating, so surely it had only been a matter of time. He just would have expected Tony to start showing signs of annoyance sooner.

“Peter?”

“What?”

“I said you did work for him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Now that you’ve left- because I hope you do leave for good, for your own sake- guess who takes all the credit for what you’ve done.”

“It’s fine.” At the moment, Peter couldn’t see why any projects mattered so much. “I mostly helped.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that, but that’s not important. What’s important is that you get what belongs to you.”

“How?”

“Surely you’ve picked up _some_ kind of inside knowledge.” Beck leaned forward a little too quickly, and Peter felt a quick jolt of alarm, as well as a certain amount of disgust.

“I mean, yeah, but I’m not gonna steal.”

“It’s not stealing if it’s yours to begin with.”

“No.” Peter’s heart beat a little faster. “Mr. Stark was a jerk, but I don’t wanna be a jerk back.”

Beck gave him a long look, and Peter was afraid he was going to get yelled at by two people today, until the man shook his head and took another drink of his coffee. “You’re really something, aren’t you?”

Peter wasn’t sure how to respond. Didn’t think there was a right way to respond. “Can you take me home now?”

“Sure thing.” Beck stood up and grabbed his almost untouched hot chocolate from the table.

“Sorry. That was rude, I just-“

“Are you kidding?” said Beck. “You’re fine. If anyone gets a pass to be a little rude, it’s you, especially now.”

“Thanks.” Peter got up to follow him. “Sorry,” he said again, for good measure. “Thanks for taking me home and everything.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re too pure for your own good, kid, honestly.”

“Thanks,” said Peter again.

They got in the car, and Beck handed him his hot chocolate again. “I’ve heard this makes everything better, but you’d better hurry before it turns into ice cream out here.” He started the car.

Peter sipped his now cold chocolate while they drove, but the sickly sweet liquid did nothing to help his now churning stomach, especially with the bitter taste it left in his mouth. He made himself finish it anyway out of politeness, and regretted that decision almost immediately as it threatened to crawl back up like some kind of venomous chocolate sludge. He stared straight out the windshield and tried to take smooth breaths. 

“You okay?” said Beck.

“Fine,” Peter ground out. “Just don’t really feel so good.”

“You’ve had a rough day. Try to sleep.”

Sleep sounded impossible, but Peter shut his eyes anyway. To his surprise, drowsiness tugged at him almost immediately, and for a while that could have been anywhere between a few minutes or an hour, he drifted in a strange state of wakefulness without awareness. Beck talked quietly on the phone with someone, but Peter blocked out the words to keep them from waking him up.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because when he woke up all the feelings of sickness and drowsiness were gone, and he was looking out the window at a mostly unfamiliar part of town.

“Where are we?”

Beck jumped so badly that the car swerved and had to scramble to get it under control again.

“Sorry!” said Peter. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, you scared me, is all,” said Beck with his hand over his heart. “I was sure you were asleep a second ago, but lo and behold.”

“Sorry.”

“You seriously need to work on that. It’s fine. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Are we taking a different route?”

“Yeah, the GPS suggested it. There’s a wreck around somewhere and traffic’s killer.”

Peter looked out the window, but he couldn’t recognize anything for sure. It occurred to him then that he didn’t actually know Beck very well at all, and some of the things he did know about him didn’t exactly inspire trust, but there was nothing to do about it now. Besides, he _was_ Spider-Man. 

“Hey, if you’re up to it,” said Beck, pulling him from his mildly anxious thoughts, “could you dial a number for me so I don’t crash us?”

“Sure,” said Peter. He took the absolute fossil of a flip phone that Beck handed him and put in the numbers he was given, practically throwing it back when it started to ring.

“William, baby, so good to hear your voice!” Beck exclaimed in an irritatingly cheerful tone. “It looks like we’re going with plan B… yes… no, I’ll tell you later… okay, love you too. Bye-bye.”

Peter looked out the window and wondered if all adults talked like that when they were in love. He certainly couldn’t imagine MJ ever- he stopped himself.

“Sorry about that,” said Beck. “Got a date tonight. He’s kind of a nervous type, likes to know things in advance.”

Peter nodded politely and resumed his looking out the window. The buildings looked even less familiar now- he was pretty sure he had never seen them before, and he started to get anxious again. The air felt like it was humming again, not loud enough to actually hear but enough to make his head foggy and everything feel even stranger. A car passed them on the right, and there was something _off_ about it, but Peter couldn’t put his finger on what.

“How long til we get there?” he asked.

“Just a few more minutes. Sorry about the long route.”

“That’s okay, I-“

The semi came out of nowhere. Peter’s spider sense didn’t so much as twitch in the split second before it smashed into them and the world flipped upside down with a horrific tearing of metal and crashing of glass. Then everything went black.

A moment later Peter opened his eyes to bright sunlight once again. He was still in the car, still fastened in, still miraculously lacking any obvious injuries. Beck, on the other hand, was slumped over the steering wheel, his face bloody and his eyes closed. 

“Mr. Beck!” Peter hardly dared touch him in case he had hurt his spine. “Mr. Beck, can you hear me?”

“Hngh?” Beck groaned.

“Oh thank God,” said Peter.

“What happened?”

“We got hit. You’ll be okay, I’ll-“

Peter stopped. People had gotten out of the semi truck as well as a nearby car, all dressed in black and wearing black ski masks. Kind of like the Winter Soldier minus the metal arm, but still with the guns. Lots of guns, and they were approaching the car.

“Uh, do you see-“

“We’re in trouble.” Beck shifted in the seat with a pained noise. “Peter, listen to m-“ he coughed, “-me. I’ll get us out of this, I promise. Just…”

Peter looked out at the people approaching the car. There were at least four of them, all with guns. He had faced guns before, but never this many, and never in such a confined situation. Even as Spider-Man (minus the webs and the actual suit) his odds weren’t great, and Beck would likely pay the price for his failure as well.

While he was running over different scenarios in his mind, the first person got to the car and rapped on the window with the tip of her gun.

“Hands up if you want to live,” she said in an exaggerated Russian accent. Peter wondered if she was faking it to sound scarier.

Accent or not, she, and more importantly the gun pointed at him and Beck, were plenty scary, and Peter raised his hands in surrender. The masked woman opened the door for him- very polite of her- while another person pointed a gun straight at him. He hoped none of them were prone to random muscle spasms.

“What do you want with us?” Peter tried to ignore his pounding heart and the anxious humming in his head.

“Questions later. Out of the car.”

He climbed out awkwardly without the use of his hands and forced himself to be still while they zip tied them in front of him, knowing that to run or fight would mean an immediate bullet for him and probably Beck as well. Beck was still in the car, with his door too smashed to open, so they dragged him out the passenger side while he groaned in pain.

“He’s hurt!” Peter protested.

“And you will be too if you keep making noise.”

It was a cartoonish sounding threat, but Peter was quiet. Thankfully, Beck was at least able to stand unsteadily beside him while they zip tied his hands, too. Then they were both dragged to the back the the semi and locked in the darkness. The engine roared back to life, and the truck lurched into motion, sending them sliding on the rough floor. Beck made a painful sound.

“You okay?” Peter asked, fumbling toward him in the dark.

“Fine,” he ground out. “You?” 

“Yeah.” Peter was far from okay; he hadn’t been this not-okay since Toomes dropped a building on him, but at least he wasn’t hurt this time.

“Good. Listen, I’m so sor- augh!” The truck hit a bump, and he cried out.

“It’s okay,” said Peter quickly, scooching closer until his knee touched Beck where he was sprawled on the floor of the truck. “Where are you hurt?”

“Stomach, chest… don’t know.”

“Give me your hands, I can hold you still.” Beck’s bound hands found his, and he held them tight, trying his best to keep the truck’s motion from jostling him too much. 

“Thanks.”

Peter could feel every time he shuddered in pain, but there was nothing he could do. It was cold in the back of the truck, and he shivered. Beck shivered too, and Peter wondered if he should be worried about shock. 

“Are you okay?”

“Th-they didn’t r-really think this through, did they?” He sounded awful, and scared as he was, Peter hoped they’d get where they were going soon. 

“You can lay on me if it helps. It might be warmer.”

It sounded like an effort, but Beck managed to raise his head enough to rest it on Peter’s leg. “Thanks.”

The truck hit a bump, and Beck let out a small noise that quickly faded into another violent shiver. Peter huddled close to him. “You’ll be okay, Mr. Beck.”

“I’m not gonna last long, wherever they’re taking us.”

“Don’t say that!” Peter squeezed his hands a little too tightly.

“S’true.” Beck grunted when the truck swayed a bit. “Think about it.”

“No no no!” Peter whispered. “I can get us out of here!”

“You?”

“I’m really strong.” It felt weird just saying it. “Like, superpowers. I can kick this door down and run away with you as soon as they stop.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Peter shifted awkwardly. “But it’s kind of a secret.”

“It’s no good right now anyway,” said Beck. “They’ll shoot us for sure. We need to watch for our chance.”

“Got it.” 

The truck went around a curve, and Peter stuck himself to the floor and accidentally to Beck as well. The man’s agonized hiss was abruptly cut off. “What the-“

“Sorry!” Peter unstuck him but stayed attached the the floor. “I also kind of stick to things.”

“Huh.”

“Don’t tell anybody.”

“Not a word.”

The road got worse and worse, but Beck was either feeling better or really going into shock, as he hardly reacted to the bumps at all after a while. Peter checked every few minutes to be sure he was still conscious.

After what felt like ages, the truck slowed to a stop, and Peter tensed. If he was alone, he might have risked an escape right then, but with an injured Beck, he couldn’t. He was trapped.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Peter swallowed, but his throat was dry. “What do you think they want with us?”

“Too early to tell. You’ll break us out soon anyway.”

“Right.” Peter looked toward the door when the lock jingled.

“We’ll be okay,” said Beck softly, and Peter almost believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. If you have time, let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, friends, and welcome to another chapter! This one was a real pain to write (and rewrite multiple times) and I’m not sure why, but here it is. Beck plays more of a background role for part of it, but he’ll be back in the spotlight soon, never fear.

  
It didn’t feel like it should be dusk already. Logically, Peter guessed it made sense, but the back of the truck had effectively been a place where time didn’t exist. Even now, time was the least of their worries. Peter looked out the open back of the truck at the damp gravel road that stretched away to cold mist under a tunnel of skeletal trees, and he wondered how on earth he was supposed to get them to safety through that. Not that it mattered at the moment- there were still guns, just like Beck had said.

The masked people were already not, and although Peter hadn’t been expecting Darth Vader or anything, he was still struck by how _ordinary_ they looked. A big gun appeared foolishly out of place in the hands of a lady who looked like a middle school social studies teacher. A woman who looked like May if she were a bit younger and had darker hair was the one who grabbed Peter by the arm and pulled him from the truck and away through the trees, and a skinny man in a weird hat followed close behind with another gun.

They walked in silence through the darkening forest, and Peter felt more and more like he was being led to his execution with every minute of quiet that passed. He looked back to be sure Beck was still there and caught a glimpse of him being pulled along by a balding man with a mustache. Beck gave him a tiny grimace of a smile.

“Hey, would it be okay to ask where we are, and who you are, and what you want with us?” Peter asked, feeling slightly bolder.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” said the woman who had him, the one who was definitely not Russian.

“Lose the accent, Victoria.” The skinny man had an accent of his own, not Russian, and it at least sounded real, although Peter couldn’t tell where it was from.

“Fine,” Victoria sniffed. “I’ll tell you inside, it’s freezing out here.” 

Peter wasn’t sure where she planned to go inside, but it was definitely freezing. “What about him?” he asked, twisting around to look at Beck again.

“We’ll take care of him.”

“He’s really hurt.”

“I’ll see what I can do. We need him for now.”

Peter didn’t want to know what they needed Beck for, but at least they wanted him alive at the moment. They walked on, all shivering in the cold, until a concrete silo, darkened and streaked with age, loomed out of a clearing in the forest twilight. It looked like the kind of place that would have at least three ghost stories to its name, but Peter’s captors either didn’t believe in ghosts or didn’t care, because Victoria led him right up to it and the skinny man opened the creaking metal door.

It was warmer, just a little, than outside. Peter was at least glad to be out of the wind. Harsh lights clicked on to reveal a semicircular room, empty except for a curtain on one side and a metal chair with restraints on the arms in the center of the bare concrete floor. The ceiling was hidden in shadows many stories above.

The skinny man hadn’t put down the gun yet, but he had definitely relaxed. Peter turned around as much as Victoria’s grip would allow him and watched Mustache Man pull Beck in the door. The social studies lady with the gun was still following them, but as soon as she got in and shut the door, she would relax too. Peter coughed and caught Beck’s eye. He shook his head.

The social studies lady shut the door. Her back was turned. The skinny man was still a problem but could probably be avoided if Peter was fast enough. If he could just get Beck out the door, the others would be delayed by having to open it and pile through, and by then they would have the trees to hide them. Peter gathered himself, Beck shook his head again. He was scared; Peter didn’t blame him, but this could be their chance, while the guns were distracted, before their captors decided to use that chair.

Beck’s knees gave out, and he crumpled. Mustache Man tried to hold him up, but he slipped through his arms to the floor.

“Mr. Beck!” Peter lunged for him. Victoria dug her nails into his arm, but he yanked himself away and sent her stumbling backward. Snapping the ties from around his wrists, he darted across the room, shoving Mustache Man aside and hitting his knees hard on the concrete floor. “Mr. Beck!”

“Peter…” Beck rasped. He was awake, and Peter could still see nothing obviously the matter with him, but his face was screwed up in pain. 

“I’m getting you out.” Peter touched his hand briefly to comfort him and hesitated over how best to pick him up. Their window of opportunity had long closed, and their captors grabbed at him again.

“No wait!” Beck cried out with ten times the strength he’d had before. “Don’t touch him!”

Miraculously, they listened and drew back again. Peter paid them no further attention and dragged Beck into a sitting position, intending to carry him over his shoulder.

“Peter, listen to me.” Beck grabbed hold of his sleeve and tried to pull him closer.

“No, come on, we have to go!”

“I’m not gonna-“

The click of a gun made them both freeze. “Don’t move,” said the skinny man.

Peter didn’t move, still awkwardly clutching Beck close to himself.

“Put him down, and nothing will happen to either of you,” said Victoria, behind the skinny man.

“He’ll die here!” Peter snarled, with the force of his words severely diminished by the fact that he was afraid to even turn his head too much.

“We’ll be sure he doesn’t, as long as you do as we say.” Victoria took a step toward them. “Put him down.”

That was the last thing Peter wanted to do. The floor was hard and cold, and Beck might be afraid if he left him there.

“Do you think there’s somewhere around that you could get him to in time? You don’t even know where you are.”

She was right, of course. Their chances of even staying alive in the freezing forest were incredibly slim.

“Peter,” said Beck faintly, his voice muffled in Peter’s shoulder.

“We can help him,” said Victoria. “Just put him down and put your hands behind your head.”

Gently, Peter laid him back down on the cold concrete floor. He looked too small. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” Beck whispered. His eyes slipped closed.

Peter almost grabbed him again, but he caught himself just in time to keep his hands clasped behind his head. He looked desperately to Victoria to keep her promise.

“You two, hurry!” she barked, and the social studies lady and the skinny man crowded around Beck. “William, with me.”

The mustache man took Peter by the arm and made him stand up. He would have fought to stay, but then they probably wouldn’t help him, so he let himself be pulled along after Victoria to one of the two metal doors in the back wall.

On the other side was a strange little room, many times taller than it was wide, dimly lit by a single lightbulb. A metal cage about the size of a bunk bed was set up in the rounded corner, next to what looked like a tiny space heater.

“Tie his hands,” said Victoria.

Peter surrendered his hands for William to zip-tie again, while Victoria went to turn on the thing, which was indeed a space heater. “I swear, I didn’t mean to do this in winter.”

Peter shivered in agreement and tugged experimentally at the ties. They were the strongest ones you could buy, but he could snap them easily when his chance came.

“You’ll get those off later if you’re good.” Victoria folded her arms and studied him. “Let’s go over the rules one more time. Do as we say, and we save your friend. If not, I really don’t care about him. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Peter without thinking.

Victoria squinted her eyes at him in lieu of a smile, and William pushed him toward the open cage door. He went as reluctantly as he could without seeming defiant, hopefully to keep them from getting any more suspicious than the broken zip ties had already made them. The door shut with a soft clang, and William locked it behind him.

“Good choice,” said Victoria.

William’s shirt pocked buzzed, and he pulled out an ancient flip phone. “You good here?”

“Go ahead.”

He went out by the metal door and left Peter craning after him to catch a glimpse of what they might be doing. Beck was nowhere to be seen. 

“So.” Victoria leaned against the wall. “Peter Parker.”

Peter was silent, his heart pounding.

“Don’t be silly, of course I know your name. I don’t kidnap children out of cars for fun.”

That made sense, he supposed. He took a step back, not sure why, and waited for her to speak again.

“My name’s Victoria. Not that you care, but I think its only fair that you know.”

“Nice to meet you,” Peter nearly responded before he caught himself. Instead, he took another step away and pressed his back to the concrete wall. It was still cold, but it felt safer. Victoria watched him without saying anything more, and he finally ventured to ask again, “What do you want with us?”

“There!” She beamed. “I thought you’d never ask!” 

Peter bit back a smart retort.

“I’ve waited a long time for this.” Victoria began pacing back and forth in front of him like a monologuing villain in a comic book. “I wouldn’t have minded waiting a little longer until it was warmer, but here we are.” She stopped pacing and came close to the cage. “Are you familiar with Tony Stark, Peter?”

Peter had feared as much, but it felt like the bottom dropped out of his chest anyway. He wondered if he should just say yes, but on the off chance that it really was a question, he didn’t want to give anything away. Lying sounded like a risky option, too, so he was quiet, and the only sound was the whir of the little heater. 

“That’s okay,” said Victoria. “You’ll have plenty of real questions to answer later.”

So she wanted information. Peter’s heart sank further.

“I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen how closely you work with Stark, and I hope you might have something I need.”

Peter wasn’t sure whether to hope he did or not, but neither sounded like a good option. He pressed his back more firmly into the cold wall for reassurance.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

He shook his head.

“That’s fine, I’m not here to talk anyway. I just need to know how to get something from the tower, and then you can go.”

Peter was almost certain she was lying, but he played along. “What about my friend?”

“Him too.” Victoria sighed. “To be clear, I never meant to take him at all, but I thought he might be good motivation.”

Well, she was right about that. For Beck’s sake, Peter listened politely instead of shoving past her and running away right then.

“I don’t like hurting people.” Victoria looked him straight in the eye with a nauseatingly sincere expression. “But I do what I have to. If you tell me what I want to know, you can both go. I’ll leave you by the road and you can find your way home, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

Peter didn’t believe her any more the second time, but he nodded like the scared kid he was. 

“Stark has something I need. I can’t tell you what, but I need you to get me into the tower and tell me how to open the vaults and the database. Can you do it?”

“Um,” said Peter intelligently.

“Um?” she mimicked. 

“I don’t really... what’re you trying to do?”

“I’m...” Victoria glanced toward the metal door like a child looking to a parent when asked a question by a stranger. “It’s a secret. I just need one thing, just a prototype and a little access code, and that’s all.”

“But what’re you going to _do_?” Peter insisted. He didn’t dare outright refuse her with Beck so vulnerable in the hands of her henchmen, and the best he could do was keep her talking. “Once you get your stuff, I mean. What’s it for?”

“Nothing very big. Just a... kind of a humanitarian project, I suppose.”

“Then why do you need Mr. Stark’s stuff? Specifically, you know?”

“You of all people should know there’s nothing like Stark technology. I should know, too- I helped make it that way.” She squinted at him instead of smiling again and leaned in conspiratorially. “Besides, I might just want to stick it to him, after he fired me.”

Peter suddenly understood _exactly_ why Tony hadn’t wanted to fire Beck, just in case he turned out like this lady. He wondered why Tony hadn’t been so concerned about _him_ , a literal superhuman who could absolutely break him, but that was beside the point. His heart sank again. “What’re you going to do with him?”

Victoria laughed. “I don’t want to kill him, if that’s what you’re so afraid of. Well.” She cocked her head to one side, considering. “I would like to, but I’m not ready for life in the spotlight. I’m just after his tech- heaven knows half of it’s mine anyway.”

“Really?” Peter was running out of things to stall with, but he couldn’t let her ask him again. “What kind of stuff did you make?”

Victoria glanced toward the door again, and again Peter got the feeling that maybe she wasn’t really as in-charge as she acted. “Hang on,” she said.

Peter hung on- there was nothing else to do- while she tapped out a message on a seriously outdated phone and scowled at whatever she got in return. He hung on for a long time after that, too, half hoping she had forgotten he was there and wouldn’t remember until Beck was stable and back within reach. No such luck. She glanced back at him, and in the split second they made eye contact, he recognized his own uncertainty like he was looking into a mirror.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stupidly, before he remembered how ridiculous that was.

“Fine.” Victoria’s head whipped toward the door again, and Peter looked too, just in case something bad was about to come bursting out. Nothing did, but she checked her watch with just as much anxiety. Nothing bad came out of it either. Then she smoothed her hair, put the phone away, and came right up to his cage with renewed calm. Just like that, she was scary again, and Peter took a small step backward.

“Are you warm enough?”

_That_ wasn’t at all what he expected, and Peter blinked stupidly at her for longer than he wanted to admit before nodding.

“Good.” She smiled at him, without squinting her eyes, so that she almost looked nice. “Sit down.”

Peter hated the idea of making himself that much shorter, but he had no choice but to sit down on the still-freezing concrete and look up like a toddler waiting to hear a story. To his utter surprise, Victoria copied him and sat cross-legged on the other side of the bars, where she studied him without speaking until his legs had reached thermal equilibrium with the floor and he was shivering again.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Again with the random questions that didn’t have a safe answer. Peter was silent while Spider-Man, Peter Parker, and the weird hybrid of the two that was trying to keep him and Beck alive all fought over who was most useful at the moment.

“Kind of?” he replied honestly, but it still didn’t feel quite right.

Victoria threw back her head with a chuckle that really didn’t fit the dramatic motion at all, and Peter wondered if she also wasn’t sure who to be. If he didn’t have Beck to worry about, he might have offered her a chance to escape with him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “I just need to know what you know, and I need to get in and open a weapons vault. Just for protection, obviously… Can you do that for me?”

Even with as weirdly vague as she still insisted on being, Peter know he couldn’t. He could probably sneak someone into the tower if he wanted to, and they could cause havoc with things in the lab and on some of the floors, but he didn’t know much about any vaults. Tony hadn’t told him, and he hadn’t cared enough about storage to ask. That was probably a good thing, especially since it was weapons they were talking about, but Victoria couldn’t know yet, just in case she decided to kill him early.

“Well?” she prompted.

“No offense, but I can’t tell you anything until I see Mr. Beck’s safe.” Peter’s heart beat so fast that it felt like it wasn’t there. A breathless silence went by.

“And why is that?”

“To be sure you aren’t lying about letting him go, too.”

“You’re not exactly in a position to negotiate.”

“Maybe.” This was incredibly delicate territory, but he couldn’t stop now. He had to make this work, for both of them, for Tony, probably for a lot of other people, too. “You said we’d be okay if I talked, and I haven’t said I won’t. I’m just making sure, and I think that’s okay because I wanna live, and I want him to live, too.”

“I could push a button and my people would kill him right now.”

Peter felt cold inside. “But you wouldn’t. You’d be breaking the deal, and then you wouldn’t have him to threaten me anymore.” 

He could see her wavering and held his breath, but she was saved from having to answer when the metal door opened and William came in. Immediately, she relaxed, even sighed a little. “Took you long enough to come back.”

“They need you.”

“Of course they do. Watch him.” She jabbed her finger in Peter’s direction. “Same rules.”

With that she left, and the closing door cut off her scolding whoever was on the other side. William scratched his mustache. Peter didn’t bother to stand up and wrapped his hands around his ankles to wait. William said not a word, studying a crack in the wall, and Peter slowly relaxed into the silence until it became almost comfortable. He decided he rather liked William.

Too soon, the metal door opened and Victoria came back, alone.

“Where’s Beck?” Peter demanded as soon as it became clear that the man wasn’t with her.

“You’ll see him in a minute.” She crouched next to his cage with a pair of scissors. “I can get those ties off if you promise to be good.”

“But he’s okay?”

“He’ll live. Now give me your hands.”

Peter squeezed his bound hands between the bars like a nice docile captive, and Victoria grasped his wrist hard. Instantly, a jolt of alarm shot through him, just like the cold of the metal against his skin, but she snapped the band shut before he could pull himself away. The thing shrank, uncomfortably tight around his wrist, and he gasped when a tiny spike pierced his skin. It itched, and a heavy feeling spread rapidly from his arm to the rest of his body.

“What was that?” He already felt shaky. He clawed at the cuff, but it didn’t budge.

“We found this-“ Victoria held up his Spider-Man mask, and Peter felt like throwing up, -“in your bag. What I gave you is a a tranquilizer, not enough to put you to sleep, but enough to keep that strength under control.”

Peter yanked at the zip ties around his hands. They didn’t break.

“Maybe Stark isn’t the only genius out there.” Victoria smiled at him like a cat might smile at a beetle.

He tried again, harder, and the plastic bit into his skin. He couldn’t breathe.

“You’re just a boy now, Peter.” Victoria left, and the metal door shut behind her.

Tears fell from Peter’s eyes without his even realizing they were there. He fought against the ties with as much strength as he could, but they kept him trapped, and he choked back a despairing cry.

“I can still take those off for you, if you want.”

Peter had completely forgotten about William, who still hovered awkwardly beside the cage. Ashamedly, he squeezed his hands between the bars again, keeping his head down and his gaze trained on the floor. The scissors snapped easily through the ties, and he pulled his uselessly free hands back to himself.

William’s knees popped as he crouched next to where Peter sat. “Just give us what we need, kid,” he said. “This doesn’t have to last long.”

Peter looked away and waited for him to leave, too.

As soon as he was alone, he set his back against the wall and began to shake. He didn’t cry, but he breathed like it, in deep gasps that still didn’t fill his lungs, with hardly a break in between. He clawed at the metal band until his fingers and wrist felt raw, but it stayed smooth and tight and inescapable.

If Beck was actually still alive, which was seeming less likely by the second, he’d have to tell him. He’d have to tell him they were trapped, and they were probably going to die, or at the very least be tortured and used against each other, and it was all his fault. He should have seen it coming, or focused less on his own act so he could recognize Victoria’s, or something. Even if he had realized she was stalling, too, it would have been something, anything, to get them out. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t kept them safe, he hadn’t gotten them out, and now he couldn’t.

_All his fault_. 

Peter buried his head in his powerless hands.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you very much for reading. My confidence has taken a real nosedive this week and I’m not entirely sure I want to hear what anyone thinks, but please still comment if you’re so inclined. 
> 
> Beck and I have delightfully evil things in store for the future.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, and wecome to a somewhat longer-than-usual chapter. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Be warned, this chapter features a whole bunch of spiders. Only one of them is actually there, but still.

  
At least Beck was still alive. 

Peter could barely look at him when they brought him in. He was steadier on his feet than he had been since the truck, and he looked to be in less pain, but he didn’t _know_. Peter stayed against the wall and wrapped his hands around his knees. 

“Just like we promised,” said Victoria. She patted Beck’s shoulder like she wanted to make him feel better, and that was gross. “So. Stark has an army of drones, did you know that? I don’t want them, but I want the weapons he made for them, and I need your help to get them. I suggest you cooperate, for your friend’s sake.”

Peter couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He could refuse and have to watch Beck die or be tortured because of him. He could agree to help and put Tony and probably most of SI’s people at risk before Victoria found out he couldn’t do what she really wanted and probably killed him. Or he could tell her the truth, that he couldn’t help her, and she would either kill him or try to get whatever he did know. There was no right option. A desperate sound built up in his throat and choked him.

“What did you do to him?” said Beck, angrily, and Peter felt even worse. 

“Nothing,” said Victoria. “We’re waiting, Peter.”

She wanted him to have to say it, just one more thing to break him. Well that was fine, it was his fault anyway. “Mr. Beck?” he croaked out.

“You okay?”

“No.” Peter scooted away from the wall, toward Beck, in spite of himself, seeking the one shred of security he could find in that place. It was stupid, _he_ was stupid-he was supposed to be the one protecting Beck, but he just wanted an adult to tell him everything would be okay. “They- they took-“

“This isn’t time to visit,” said Victoria. “Tell me what you know, or I’ll check what he knows.”

Beck winked at him, and _oh god he didn’t_ _know._

“Wait!” Peter jumped to his feet and scrambled against the bars, even though Beck was out of his reach. “You can’t!”

“Then answer me.”

“Then _ask_ me!”

“I am, actually. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

Peter opened his mouth and shut it again. There was nothing he could say that would help them. Beck was watching him, concerned, but still so calm knowing Peter would save him.

“Mr. Beck-“

“I’ll be okay.” He smiled slightly.

“No, you don’t- I can’t-“

“I think I’ve heard enough,” said Victoria. “Guterman?”

The skinny man with the accent came out of nowhere to pull Beck away.

“No!” Peter flung himself against the bars and made a wild grab in their direction, but they were too far away. Not that his normal-person arm would have done much anyway. “No, don’t hurt him!”

Beck went with the skinny man, Guterman apparently, almost nonchalantly, giving Peter a subtle thumbs up. “Ready?” he mouthed.

“No, no, I’m not- I _can’t_! Mr. Beck!”

The metal door slammed shut, and Peter was alone with Victoria again.

“You were going to break out with him, weren’t you?”

“Don’t hurt him. I’m the one you want, you said that.”

“Of course.” She left too, and the slam of the door echoed around the concrete room.

Peter didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he would ever move again, glued to the bars like he was, staring at the closed door. There were voices on the other side, but he couldn’t make out much of what they were saying through the thick wall. He thought he heard Beck say “I don’t know,” and he leaned closer, just to be nearer to him.

“No wait!” That was Beck again, and he was scared. Peter had already become one with the bars, but he pressed against them harder anyway. “I can- don’t- _Peter_!”

“Beck!” Peter threw himself against the cage, but of course it didn’t budge. 

“Peter, for God’s sake _help me_!”

He didn’t know. He didn’t know why Peter wasn’t saving him and why he was just listening to him scream. Someone was laughing. Peter sobbed.

“Stop it! Stop, you’re hurting him!” He pounded on the cage door with his fist. He hit it again, this time with the cuff on his wrist, but it didn’t so much as scratch. He tried again, and again, over and over until he missed and gashed the back of his hand on the metal, prompting him to cry out sharply. Whatever they were doing to Beck was a million times worse, and Peter sank into a crouch with his hands over his ears. They didn’t block it out. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated through his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

It was too much to stand. Peter couldn’t stop it, but he could give him a minute at least, and maybe turn Victoria’s attention back to himself.

“Fine, I’ll tell you!” he shouted at the wall. “I’ll tell you everything, just stop!”

He could feed them a pack of lies, and then they would probably do something awful to him, but maybe the time they spent finding out they were lies would be enough to plan something. That was, if they listened to him, which they didn’t. Peter started to cry again so that he could barely get words out, but he yelled as loud as he could for them to listen. No one came.

Finally, finally, it stopped, but that was almost worse, and Peter strained his ears for any sound that might tell him what was happening. Footsteps approached the metal door, it opened, and Victoria and Guterman came in with Beck stumbling between them. Peter scrambled to his feet again, and he might have screamed at them if he could think of any words. Instead, when William unlocked the cage door, he shoved past and actually managed to land a good punch on one of them before his stupid weak self was thrown back again. They shoved Beck in after him and shut and locked the door before either could make a move.

“You’re next,” said Victoria simply, and then they were gone.

Beck swayed on his feet. Peter jumped just in time to catch him and was barely strong enough to lower him to the floor with a relatively gentle thud. His hair was wet.

“Why?” The betrayal in his voice cut Peter to his soul, and he burst into tears again. 

“I’m sorry!” he sobbed. “I’m sorry Mr. Beck, they took- they made, I _couldn’t_!” He wrapped his arms tightly around him, hoping that was the right thing to do. “I’m not strong anymore, they put this thing on me and I can’t get out and I’m _sorry_.”

Beck didn’t say anything, but he moved his hand to rest lightly on Peter’s back. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered, again.

“I know.” Beck pressed his back. “It’s not your fault.” 

Peter would have argued, but it wouldn’t have helped, so he didn’t. He wanted to pull himself closer and hide, but he wasn’t the one who had just endured... whatever they had done. He hugged Beck tighter and held his head close to his shoulder like May sometimes did for him when he had bad dreams. 

“I can’t break us out of here,” he said quietly. “But I’m still here, okay? We can think of a way to get out, or somebody’ll find us. I bet they’re already looking.”

“They can’t.”

“They can, or we’ll sneak out. We’ll be okay.”

“Oh kid.”

Peter wanted to cry again at how hopeless he sounded, but he had to be strong, as strong as he could be now. He hugged Beck and rocked slowly back and forth until he made him let go.

~

They came for him next, as Victoria had promised. Beck moved in front like he could hide him, but he couldn’t actually do anything to protect him. Not that Peter wanted him to- it was his fault they were in this mess anyway, but hands shook when he let them take him away.

They led him to the big room, to the terrifying metal chair, and he thought about trying to fight them then. His stomach churned, and he clamped his hands hard around the arms of the chair to keep himself still while they locked him in- there was no point in trying to run now, not with Beck locked in the other room with no way out. Peter looked around for any clue as to what they would do to him, but there was nothing to be seen but the bare concrete walls and that curtain that hid whatever was in the corner.

“How are you doing, Peter?” said Victoria.

Peter didn’t answer her. His nose itched, but he couldn’t move a hand to scratch it, and just like that the restraints themselves were already getting to him. He tried to take deep breaths.

“I’m sorry about the chair, but it’s necessary.” Victoria came close to examine his scratched wrist on where he had clawed at the cuff and the place where he had sliced his hand on the door of the cage. “Oh, those look painful. Janice, would you mind?”

The social studies lady dumped rubbing alcohol directly over his wounded hand, and he clamped his mouth shut and held his breath to avoid making a sound when it burned and stung. At least he could check infection off his list of worries. 

“I have to apologize for keeping things from you earlier.” Victoria had pulled up an ordinary chair from somewhere and sat in it like they were across from each other at an imaginary table. “I didn’t want to mislead you, but there were certain things I needed done, like your lovely bracelet.” 

She made deliberate eye contact then, but Peter didn’t take her dare to say anything. He sat silently, cursing both her and himself.

“One other thing, which you may have guessed but I want to be sure we’re clear: we found a suit to go with your interesting little mask. Beautifully designed, did Stark make it for you?”

Being reminded of his suit- and Tony-made Peter’s eyes sting and a heavy lump form in his throat, but a tiny swell of hope also formed in his chest.

“I know Stark likes to keep close track of his tech, so I imagined the suit would be no exception, and look what I found.” Victoria held up the little wire, and the hope in Peter’s chest turned to a crushing pit of cold. “We deactivated it, of course, but just to be sure you understand...” She pulled it in two and dropped the pieces at his feet. “Even if he cares enough to come for you, he can’t.”

Peter had no doubt Tony was looking for him. Even if he thought he was annoying, even if he hated him and never wanted to see him again, he wouldn’t want him to _die_. Even if he did, May would be sure he looked, if only there was a way find him. Peter nudged at the broken tracker on the floor and hoped it was programmed to send a location right when someone turned it off.

“You took that well.” Victoria sounded genuinely impressed.

“They’ll find me.”

“Whatever you think.” She leaned forward at the imaginary table. “Now that we have those things out of the way, I hope we can be honest with each other.”

Peter said nothing.

“We’ll start easy. Tell me your name.”

“Peter Parker.” At least he could keep her happy for a minute longer.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“And how long have you known Tony Stark?”

It was a relatively benign question, probably nothing but a bridge from the easy ones to the important things, but Peter didn’t feel like risking it. Just in case. He had no delusions about actually saving himself from whatever Victoria had planned, so it was only a matter of putting it off anyway. He said nothing and grasped the arms of the chair to keep his fingers from shaking.

“Don’t stop now, you were doing so well.”

Peter felt like all his insides had disappeared and he was just a paper shell with the wind blowing, but he stared her down.

“Peter.” She stared right back. “You don’t have to make this so difficult.”

Peter wished his chest would stop heaving so he could at least pretend to be calmer than he was.

“That’s fine,” said Victoria. “I have a friend who might help you talk.” 

She got up and left, back to the curtained place. In a minute, she was back, with something small in her hand purposely shielded from his view. Peter felt weirdly like crying, even though nothing had even happened to him yet.

“I thought it might be interesting to find out: how does Spider-Man like spiders?”

Peter would have rolled his eyes at the complete lack of creativity if Victoria hadn’t chosen that moment to show him the biggest spider he’d ever seen.

It was easily the size of his palm, with fat hairy legs and a swollen brown body, and it tapped a spiky foot on the side of its container almost like it was waving at him. Peter swallowed.

_The big ones were never really_ _dangerous_. He’d be okay. Even if she had it crawl on him, he’d be fine, no big deal. 

It was small comfort.

“This is Matilda, and she’d love to meet you,” said Victoria. “Would you like to meet her?”

No, Peter would be just fine waving from a distance, but he didn’t say that. Didn’t say anything while Victoria came close to him and opened the lid of the container. Matilda’s hair looked a lot sharper up close.

Peter leaned as far away as the chair would let him. “Did you know those guys are actually really fragile? Maybe not that kind, but some big spiders, they really don’t do well with handling at all, so you should probably-“

Victoria scooped the monstrosity up in her bare hand and deposited it on Peter’s arm. Its stiff little hairs prickled on his skin, and an involuntary shudder ran through him.

“Let’s start again. Tell me your name.”

It was hard to squeeze out words. “Peter Parker.” He didn’t want to look at the spider, but he didn’t want to let it out of his sight either. He told Victoria his age, and then it was back to dangerous questions while Matilda crept up his arm. Once she was on his shoulder, he could only see her out of the corner of his eye- way too close, might he add- while she brushed her horrible little feelers on the base of his neck. He shivered hard.

“Just tell me,” said Victoria. “I only want a few answers, and then she goes away.”

“You know, I’m really impressed you can pick her up like tha-ah!” Peter couldn’t stop a yelp when a hairy leg slipped under the collar of his shirt.

“I appreciate the compliment, but I’d rather you answer me. How long have you known Stark?”

The spider was on his neck now, giving him the (hopefully irrational) feeling that it was about to sink its fangs into the vulnerable skin there. Peter shuddered and choked out a laugh that really, really didn’t make sense, given his situation. “Please get it off.”

“Please answer.”

Peter felt like screaming when a hairy leg brushed his face and then his ear. It wasn’t going to hurt him, he reminded himself, for the billionth time. It was just creepy and ticklish in the worst possible way, and his neck had never felt so exposed. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Back in a minute,” said Victoria abruptly, and she disappeared behind the curtain in the corner, leaving him alone with the spider. If the restraints had been around his chest instead of his arms, his heart would have definitely pounded them to pieces by now. His entire body was starting to feel crawly.

There was a scuffle in one corner of the room, a sound like hundreds of tiny feet, all moving at once. A dark wave rolled along the floor toward him, alive with motion, and Peter pulled his legs back as close to himself as he could when he realized it really _was_ alive.

_Spiders_. 

Hundreds of them, thousands of them, all different types and sizes, all rushing toward him. Peter choked on his breath and struggled against the chair, but it wouldn’t even allow him to curl up. The spiders kept coming, their feet making a horrible scratchy noise on the floor, closer and and closer, and he let out a sharp cry that he wasn’t even sure came from him when they reached the legs of the chair and started to rush up them.

Thousands of tiny, crawly, hairy feet joined Matilda’s all over him- under his shirt, on his neck, in his hair, on his face- and more dropped from the ceiling. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and made himself as small as he possibly could, twitching and shivering involuntarily under the itching, crawling blanket. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t dare open his mouth with all the spiders scrambling over his lips and nose, and the only sound he let out was a desperate whimper. They were in his ears, and his skin felt like it was about ready to twitch itself away from his bones to get them off. Peter cried silently and waited for it to end.

~  
  
“They’re all gone, I swear.”

“Can you check again?” 

“I already did.”

“Please?” Peter could still feel the spiders on his skin.

Beck’s fingers searched through his hair for the third time, and it was just so good to feel _anything_ other than crawling that Peter didn’t even care how haphazardly he checked.

“No spiders, you’re fine.”

“Thanks.” Peter rubbed a hand up and down his arm to make the feeling go away there, too.

“You okay?”

“It still feels like they’re on me.”

“Poor kid.” Beck rested a hand on his far shoulder, and Peter took that as an invitation to squish himself against his side. He felt solid, and if Peter stayed close enough, the imaginary spiders didn’t have room to crawl between them. “Nothing you know about Stark could be worth all this.”  
  
“I can’t tell them. They’ll know enough to get him, and then they might be able to get stuff to kill a bunch of other people, too.”

“You’re just a kid. Trained adults have given up bigger things under less.”

Peter shook his head. “People would die.”

“ _We_ could die, Peter.”

“Do you really think they’ll let us go if I tell them what they want?” he blurted, in a more accusatory tone than he intended. “I know they keep saying that, but they’ll probably kill us both the second they get what they need. If we make them keep asking, maybe we have a chance!” 

“What chance?” Beck sounded so defeated that Peter thought about hugging him like he had before.

“My suit had a tracker in it. When Mr. Stark finds out I’m missing, that’s the first thing he’ll look for. They destroyed it, but hopefully he’ll be able to see where it last was, and then he can find us.”

“How do you know he’s looking?”

“He wouldn’t leave us here.”

“You’re sure? Even after what he said to you?”

The reminder felt like someone had jabbed him in the stomach with a pin. “I’m sure.”

“I really envy your optimism sometimes, kid.”

Peter would have defended Tony further, but he doubted Beck would listen in his despondent mood. “Or maybe we’ll find our own way out,” he said lamely. “There must be a way to get this drug bracelet off.”

“Yeah.” Beck wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders, making no effort to help him with the cuff like he’d hoped. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”

The door opened and Victoria came in, followed by all three of her people. “Bring them both,” she said.

Peter had thought being in the chair in the big room had been terrifying before, but now it was even worse. Beck was tied to a normal chair about ten paces in front of him, and Peter knew better than to take comfort in the fact that he wasn’t alone this time. He met Beck’s eyes, and his expression was not reassuring.

“I’ll lay it out simply,” said Victoria. “Tell us how to open the vaults, or he dies right here.”

Peter felt like he had swallowed an enormous block of ice. His stomach churned and felt heavy at the same time, and his feet were cold and numb. Just as he had when they took Beck away the first time, he froze, and his thoughts vibrated furiously around his head like a swarm of terrified bees.

“Well?”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, not that he knew what to say anyway.

“I suggest you think quickly.”

“I-“ Peter wanted to say he didn’t know, but that wasn’t a safe answer. He needed to think, needed to come up with the most convincing lie he could, just to buy them time, but his brain was spiraling out of control.

“Peter?” Beck’s uncertain voice roused him, just a little.

Victoria was inching toward him with the shiniest knife Peter had ever seen in her hand. He met Beck’s eyes again and actually _felt_ him begging for help.

“Okay.” He took a shuddery breath, long enough to buy himself another second to think. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Mr. Stark’s office- he never goes in there, but there’s an access card in a safe in the second drawer from the top of the filing cabinet. The key to the drawer’s in the fake bottom of a bottle on the desk.” Victoria would find nothing; FRIDAY wouldn’t even let her in, but it would give them time. It could also backfire spectacularly and get them both killed, but Beck was dead anyway if he didn’t try it.

The air hung heavily around his words and the silence that followed them. Peter breathed in, and it felt like the whole world breathed with him. Beck tapped four times on the leg of his chair; it was a signal, but Peter didn’t know what he meant for him to do.

“Interesting.”

It was one word. Four syllables. That was all it took, and the bottom dropped out of Peter’s chest. Victoria looked at him, and he felt like she could see right through his clothes, right through his skin, and she knew.

“You forgot, Peter, I worked for Stark for a long time. He doesn’t like access cards.”

“It’s new!” Peter gasped out, his chest almost too tight to even breathe. “He just started having it, you wouldn’t have seen.”

Beck tapped on his chair again, and Peter strained toward him, but he didn’t know what it meant. 

_He didn’t know what to do_.

“Liar.” Victoria turned toward Beck again, and the edge of the knife glinted.

“I’m not!” The restraints cut into Peter’s arms. “I’m not lying, don’t hurt him!”

Victoria was right next to Beck now, grabbing him by the hair and forcing his head back. Peter sobbed and struggled harder against the chair, but it didn’t budge.

“Okay!” he cried out. “Okay, I lied, I don’t know how to get in!”

Victoria stopped to look at him again, the knife still held terrifyingly close to Beck’s exposed throat.

“Mr. Stark never told me about the vaults, I don’t know how to get in. Just don’t hurt him.”

A moment passed. Then another. No one moved.

“Please, please, don’t hurt him.” Peter made himself look Victoria in the eye, to look for some small ounce of pity that might save them.

“Our deal was that you tell me.”

The knife flashed sharply. Peter screamed.

Victoria stepped away and let Beck slump forward. He was choking and shuddering, and Peter fought to escape the chair until blood ran down his arms. There was blood everywhere. Peter heard his own voice screaming- he was sobbing and pleading even though it was far too late, and Beck was dying in front of him and he couldn’t even say anything to him.

It didn’t last long. Beck slumped further, his head lolled on his blood-soaked chest, and he was still. 

“Beck?” Peter asked softly.

There was no answer- he didn’t know what he’d expected. He started to cry again- hard.

Then Beck breathed. The sound had Peter sitting straight up in the chair, and he stared open-mouthed at the man in front of him. He was still hunched over, shaking slightly, but he was breathing, and he was alive, and Peter couldn’t comprehend it. He couldn’t make a sound.

Beck lifted his head, and Peter shied away from the sight of his horribly slit throat and the blood that still dripped from it. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. He should be dead, but he was _laughing_ as he stood up through the ropes like they didn’t even exist.

“Victoria, you riot!” He shook his head and laughed some more.

It felt like being hit in the face with a cast iron skillet, the biggest kind.

“William, wherever you are, great job- that was _horrifying_.”

This was worse than a cast-iron skillet. Peter felt like he’d been hit in the face with a truck.

“That was fun, but now the real job starts.” Beck turned to Peter. The blood was disappearing, melting away into thin air, until it was like nothing had happened to him. “How do I get into Stark’s vault?”

Peter couldn’t even breathe, much less talk. He opened and shut his mouth for the hundredth time, but he didn’t have any words.

“I tried to make this easy for you,” Beck went on. “I asked you so many times, gave you so many chances, but you didn’t listen to me. You were too stubborn, too worried about doing the right thing or about keeping your precious mentor safe, and look where it got you.”

This was not happening. Peter shook his head. This was some terrible dream, or he was imagining things- this couldn’t be real.

“Even after I had to take you here, I tried to make it so you could help me with a clear conscience. You’d be protecting a friend or saving yourself, and you’d never have to know what was really happening, but you messed that up, too.”

Peter had begun to shake.

“I’ll tell you the truth, just to be sure we’re absolutely clear. I have my life’s work here, with me.” Beck gestured around the room. “You‘ve seen it at work multiple times already, whether you realize it or not. I don’t need to steal it back from Stark. What I want is to put it back in my name, and then I want the weaponized drones he made himself, to combine them, and you’re going to help me.”

Surely by now Peter should have thought of something to say, but his mind was still terrifyingly blank.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Peter,” Beck continued in a softer tone. “But if you can’t work with me, I’ll have no other choice.”

“No.” Peter could barely get the word out, but it was something. “No, I can’t- this isn’t real.” His voice kept rising and he couldn’t control it. “You died, I _saw_ you!”

“I don’t think you even know what’s real.” Beck walked away from him, into the darkness around the edge of the room. 

The ceiling rumbled, and the whole building shook, and Peter’s throat seized up with memories. He thrashed in the chair, but he was trapped, just like he had been then, and the ceiling was cracking, raining bits of dust and rubble down on him. He looked up just in time to see it all crashing down on his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.
> 
> Stay tuned next chapter to finally find out what Tony’s thinking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It still blows my mind that there are actual people out there who read what I write and enjoy it enough to keep reading. That’s really cool, you guys!

  
It took several seconds for Peter to realize it wasn’t real. He wasn’t dead, there was no crushing weight of rubble on him, the ceiling was still in tact above him. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but his relief was short-lived as Beck came toward him again. He looked away.

“I understand why you might be upset with me, and I’m sorry for that, but I did what I had to,” said Beck. “Just tell me what you know, and everything will be okay.”

“You lied to me,” Peter hissed. “I was trying to protect you!”

“I just wanted to make it easier.” Beck stood right next to him, too close, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Now tell me everything you know about Stark’s vaults. The database, too, if you can.”

“No.”

“Peter.”

“No, fu- screw you.”

“Do you realize what my illusions can do?”

Peter shrugged Beck’s hand from his shoulder.

“The truck that hit us, that was an illusion. The spiders, the ceiling, obviously that time Victoria killed me: all illusions. I wouldn’t want to see any more if I were you.”

He was right; Peter didn’t want to see any more. There was no telling what they could be. But at this point, he was about done trying to stall for time. Stalling never got him anywhere except more pain- better to just tell the truth and get it over with.

“I don’t know anything about the vaults, or the database. Mr. Stark didn’t tell me, and it’s not like I would have asked.” He took a breath to steady himself. “You’re probably gonna kill me now, but that’s fine. I don’t know.”

Beck didn’t say anything for a moment, and Peter wondered how he was going to do it. Hopefully not with the knife, not that it mattered that much. He gripped the arms of the chair hard, which did nothing to stop his hands from shaking.

“Well I have to say I’m disappointed,” said Beck finally. “Not that I completely believe you, but I’ll go with it for now. With how closely you worked with Stark, I assumed you would have picked up something really useful.” He patted Peter’s shoulder. “That’s okay. I have another use for you.”

So he wasn’t about to die. That was definitely a good thing, Peter thought, but there was no way whatever else Beck wanted to use him for could be pleasant. He wan’t going to find out right away either, as Beck left him alone and disappeared behind the curtain in the corner. 

Peter wondered what was back there. Probably illusion controls or something.

He waited- it felt like forever but was probably less than a minute, until Beck returned with something scary and metal-looking, which turned out to be only a normal camera tripod that he set up in front of the chair. At this point, Peter just tried to make himself look slightly less desperate than he felt while Beck stood behind him like they were posing for a picture ptogether. 

“Hello Tony,” he said to the camera, and Peter’s heart plummeted with the realization of what he had already feared. “Maybe you’ve noticed your intern’s missing. I’m not sure how much you want him back, but if you’d like to see him alive, I have some things I want, too. I want the name BARF erased from my work, my project back in my name, and fifty of your drone cannons- I know you made them, don’t try to deny it. I’m going to keep you updated until you agree.” Beck patted Peter’s shoulder. “Ask Mr. Stark to help you.”

Peter blinked at the camera. Tony would see this, and he needed to be careful not to scare him.

“Ask him.” Beck’s voice was dangerous.

“Don’t give him what he wants. He’s crazy, just like you said, and he’s gonna use your stuff to hurt people- you can’t give it-“

Beck slapped him across the face so hard that his eyes watered, and he looked quickly away from the camera so it wouldn’t look like he was crying. A hand dug into his hair and forced him to face it again anyway. “Tell him.”

Peter put on his best brave smile. “I’ll be okay, Mr. Stark.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Beck’s fingers tightened painfully in his hair. “I’m letting you live and you’re still being useless!” 

Peter choked at the sudden pressure when Beck’s hand closed around his throat. It hurt, and he couldn’t get enough air, and it wouldn’t stop no matter how he tried thrashing to get away. _He couldn’t breathe,_ and panic quickly began to set in.

“You’re pathetic,” Beck spat. “If you’d just admit it and beg for help, this would be so much easier.”

He let go, and Peter coughed and gasped in a shaky breath. He looked directly into the camera and schooled features back into the calmest expression he could muster. “Please help me, Mr. Stark.”

“Tell him how scared you are.”

“This guy’s kinda freaking me out, and the old silo in the middle of the woods is really creepy.”

“Goddammit, Parker!”

By the time Peter and his throbbing face registered what happened, Beck had stormed off, leaving him alone with the camera. He still felt dazed from the hit, but he looked into the lens as steadily as he could. It was comforting to think Tony might at least see him.

“Hey Mr. Stark. Hopefully he doesn’t watch this whole thing before he sends it.” Peter had to laugh at himself; that last hit must have messed up his brain. “Of course he will, I don’t know why I’m even trying. Maybe it’s live or something. Anyway, he has four other people here, with guns and stuff and I guess his illusion drones, and we’re in an old silo in the middle of the woods with like a gravel road or something near it. They put this drug bracelet on me so I’m not strong enough to break out, but I’m okay. Don’t give him anything.”

Peter paused, unsure of what to say next but not wanting to lose the feeling of indirectly talking to someone who might help him. It would undoubtedly be irritating, but Tony could just turn it off if he really wanted to, if Beck didn’t cut it anyway. 

“He hasn’t really hurt me, except for just now. For a while he did this whole thing where he pretended his people kidnapped us both and he mostly made me worry about them hurting him, so I’m fine. Really, Mr. Stark, I wanna get out of here, but I’m not dying or anything, trust me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beck returning. He at least looked calmer than he had when he’d left, so that was a good sign, but Peter tensed nevertheless and looked to the camera like Tony might jump through and help him.

“Oh _now_ you decide to talk.”

“I thought it should be a private conversation,” said Peter before he could stop himself.

Beck gave him the scariest look of amused disbelief for a full second, before he laughed and ruffled his hair. “I can tell who you get it from, kid.”

Peter raised his chin. “Thank you.”

“Unfortunately, he can’t help you here, not unless he gives me what I want.” Beck looked directly into the camera. “Let’s hope he does.” 

~

Tony paced to the window, then back to his desk, checked his phone, and walked to the window again. And again. He should probably go check on May, but he didn’t think he could look her in the eye. Besides, she had Pepper, and if anybody knew how to handle something like this, it was Pepper. Selfishly, Tony wished he had her at the moment, too.

Back to the desk. No notifications. He really would have expected something by now.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know what was going on. He’d found the footage soon after Peter turned up missing, and there was only one other person who could make illusions that convincing. Tony had made himself go through the entire thing anyway and watched in horror as he snapped at the kid, calling him annoying and telling him to leave. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the expression of crushed shock on Peter’s face when he fled the room in tears.

Beck, because of course it was Beck, the absolute slime, had played at sympathy and talked Peter into leaving with him. They showed up later at a Starbucks together, and then they vanished without a trace. Tony hadn’t even been able to find a match for the car, probably because of the illusions disguising it. The only other clue was the distress signal from Peter’s suit tracker just before it went quiet, sent from an empty alleyway. Neither Peter nor the suit had been anywhere to be seen, but Tony was almost certain he was still alive.

He would have expected Beck to contact him with his demands by now. There was no other logical reason why he would have kidnapped Peter- surely he wouldn’t expect the poor kid to know how BARF worked. Unless he did… he _was_ crazy after all. Tony felt sick.

It was all his fault, of course. He knew Beck had been messing with the kid, trying to get him in on his schemes. He should have anticipated something like this, should have done something to prevent it, but he _hadn’t_ \- he never did. Tony was starting to wonder if he just wasn’t capable of preventing things.

Back to the desk. There was a message.

Tony nearly hit the ceiling, all kinds of hopeful and terrified and cynical all at once. The message was from an unknown sender, with no subject line. It could have been an ordinary virus, but he opened it without a second thought. All it contained was a video file, and he thought about running to get May but decided against it, just in case it was something horrible.

It probably was. Tony’s heart pounded nauseatingly in his throat as he made himself click “play”.

Peter was cuffed to a metal chair in a dimly lit room.

That alone was enough to send shivers up Tony’s spine, but a second later it was worse because Beck himself, the bastard, appeared behind him and looked smugly into the camera.

“Hello Tony.”

Tony had never particularly liked Skype or FaceTime or whatever people used these days, but he wished for it now, just so he could scream every possible insult at the smirking mass of road sludge that was standing entirely too close to Peter. Beck went on, laying out predictable demands, but all Tony could focus on was the way Peter looked into the camera almost like he could see him on the other side.

Skype wasn’t good enough- Tony would rather just climb through the screen.

Beck finished his list and patted Peter on the shoulder. “Ask Mr. Stark to help you.”

Peter blinked at him, and Tony hoped to any god who cared that he wasn’t thinking about the lab illusion and questioning if he would even want to save him.

“Ask him,” Beck growled.

“Don’t give him what he wants,” said Peter, but Tony could hear how scared he was. “He’s crazy, just like you said, and he’s gonna use your stuff to hurt people- you can’t give it-“

Beck slapped him across the face, and Tony clenched his hand involuntarily around the edge of the desk. Peter looked away quickly, but not before Tony saw the tears in his eyes.

“Tell him,” Beck demanded, forcing Peter to look at the camera again.

Tony’s own eyes stung when Peter put on a false brave smile. “I’ll be okay, Mr. Stark.”

That wasn’t what Beck wanted. He grabbed Peter by the neck, and Tony saw red. Red, as well as blinding white fear, because _dear god he couldn’t breathe._ Peter couldn’t breathe and Beck was killing him and he was so scared and- And finally he let go, and Peter was able to cough and take a breath again. Tony took a breath, too.

Peter looked into the camera again, and he was trying so hard to appear calm but it was obvious that he was still shaken. “Please help me, Mr. Stark.” There was no emotion in his voice; it was almost robotic in its obedience to Beck’s request, and that was the worst part, Tony thought.

“Tell him how scared you are,” Beck prompted.

“This guy’s kinda freaking me out,” said Peter with the tiniest ghost of a smile. “And-“ The video muted the rest of his words, but it was back a second later for Tony to hear Beck shouting and the sickening sound of his hand connecting with Peter’s face.

Peter appeared dazed for several seconds while Beck stormed off, but he collected himself with a sense of urgency. “Hey Mr. Stark.”

“I’m here, kid,” Tony wished he could say back.

“Hopefully he doesn’t watch this whole thing before he sends it.” Peter shook his head like he was trying to bring himself back to his senses. “Of course he will, I don’t even know why I’m trying. Maybe it’s live or something. Anyway, he has-“

The video skipped, deliberately cut, and Tony growled in frustration.

“Oh _now_ you decide to talk,” Beck was saying.

“I thought it should be a private conversation.”

In similar circumstances, Tony probably would have said the same thing, but it was the wrong thing. A tense silence lingered, until Beck laughed and ruffled Peter’s hair. “I can see where you get it from, kid.”

“Thank you.” Peter lifted his chin proudly and Tony begged him to stop, to be less like him, to just keep Beck happy and himself as safe as possible until he could find them.

“Unfortunately, he can’t help you here, not unless he gives me what I want.” It felt like Beck looked straight at him. “Let’s hope he does.”

Tony didn’t move for several seconds after the video ended. He could still see the guarded expression on Peter’s face, like he was afraid to even look scared. He could feel him silently pleading for help even while he appeared almost stoic, and his mind returned again to the illusion of himself in the lab. That was absolutely the worst part, Tony thought, that Peter might not even be sure he _wanted_ to get him back.

“I’m coming,” he said out loud before he realized he was even speaking. 

He was coming to wipe that smirk off Beck’s face and break his camera and his drones and everything that had even remotely contributed to this nightmare, and then he might break Beck himself for good measure. He would get Peter out of that stupid chair and take him home where he was safe, and he’d tell him about the illusion and how none of it was real and how he really did care, and how sorry he was. 

He was coming to get his kid.

He wasn’t coming, he was still standing at his desk like a fool when there were things to do. He _wanted_ to send a message right back telling Beck exactly what he thought of him, but that probably wouldn’t be wise. First he needed to tell May that they at least knew Peter was alive. Then he needed to try running a trace on the message, which Beck would undoubtedly have planned for, but it was worth a shot. Then he’d tell Rhodey because he was actually good at this kind of thing, and then he’d see about finding whatever Peter said when the sound cut out, whatever Beck hadn’t wanted to give away. 

They’d find him. They had to.

Full of pretend composure, Tony left the room.

~

Peter didn’t know how long he’d been sitting. Judging by his face, which had started to tingle rather than burn where Beck slapped him, it had been quite a while.

It was quiet in the silo; he could hear the hum of a heater or a generator somewhere, and an echoey murmur of voices while Beck and his people talked, and that was all. Occasionally they laughed and he wondered what was so funny, but then he decided he didn’t want to know. Peter squirmed in the metal chair. He hadn’t imagined getting kidnapped could be this boring.

When Beck returned, Peter decided he might rather have stayed bored for a while longer. He tensed, not knowing exactly what to expect but sure it wouldn’t be good.

“Hey relax.” Beck came much too close again and stood right in his blind spot. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Not believing that in the slightest, Peter leaned away as far as the chair would allow, but Beck followed and pulled him into an awkward hug. Peter froze, his head squished uncomfortably against the man’s ribs, trying to make sense of this new situation.

“Relax.” The hand that squeezed his head to Beck’s side smoothed his hair. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Peter almost said it was okay out of habit, but it was most definitely, positively, one hundred percent not okay.

“If you’d just cooperate with me, this would be so much easier.”

“You kidnapped me,” Peter mumbled, knowing the logic of that statement was likely to be totally lost on his captor.

“You didn’t give me a choice.” Beck finally released him. “You know I still don’t completely believe you can’t help me, right?”

“I know.” Peter felt like sighing. This was already getting old. “But I really can’t, okay? I’m just an intern.”

“I’ll let you off again, for now. You hungry?”

Peter frowned. His stomach felt hollow- it had been a long time since the sandwiches Janice had given them, back when they were kidnapped together. He almost said yes, but if he had learned anything recently, it was never to trust Beck again. Ever. “No.”

“No?”

“I’m not.”

“You sure? It’s been a while.”

“I’m sure.”

“Pizza?”

Peter’s stomach growled just at the thought, but he shook his head.

“ _Get him pizza_ , she says. _All kids like_ _pizza_ , she says.” Beck _tsked_ in disappointment. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into all those fad diets already?”

“No.”

“Good, because we have plenty.”

Peter could already smell it, and right on cue Victoria appeared from somewhere, presumably behind the other metal door, with a paper plate heavy with at least three slices gleaming with melty cheese. It even smelled warm, and he looked away and tried hard to ignore the intoxicating aroma of sauce and meat and cheese and crust- all the fat and carbs he couldn’t afford to crave. It wasn’t working. His stomach felt like it was twisting.

“Come on Peter,” Beck coaxed, shoving the pizza tantalizingly close under his nose. “You need to eat. What would we have done to it, really?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t trust you.” That was only half of it- part of Peter just wanted to be difficult to pay him back in some small way for what he was doing. That part was quickly losing to his hunger.

“I wouldn’t poison you; it’s too early for that,” said Beck. “Tony needs time to respond.”

Logically, that made sense, but something still made Peter pause. He couldn’t tell what, exactly, because the smell of the pizza was almost making him dizzy with hunger and clouding up all his thoughts.

“Cheese or sausage?” said Beck.

What would Tony do here? He’d gotten kidnapped before, at least once that Peter was sure about, and that had been for a long time- surely he’d eaten what they gave him. Maybe they’d been less suspicious about the way they offered it to him, though? Peter wished he was as smart as Tony to figure all that out. All he knew was that he was hungry, starving, actually, and all his resolve to be either paranoid or difficult was evaporating almost as fast as what felt like the very last of his strength.

Maybe it was just a resolve to be stupid anyway. “Sausage.”

“Finally! You do still have a brain.”

Peter almost regretted his decision immediately at how excited Beck seemed, but all his willpower was gone. If he was probably going to die soon, he might as well eat.

“I was afraid you’d lost it there for a minute. Here.” Beck held a slice up to his mouth. 

Peter shrank away- he hadn’t signed up for this. Beck followed him with the pizza, but he shut his mouth tight.

“What’s wrong?”

As if he even needed to explain it. Peter scowled.

“I never said you could get out yet,” said Beck. “Now are you hungry or not?”

He was, ravenously so; pride would have to wait. Wrinkling up his nose at the indignity of it, he bit into the slice and immediately had to stifle a sigh at how good it was. He couldn’t keep strings of cheese from dripping onto his chin when he tried to bite it off, and he looked deliberately at the floor when Beck chuckled. 

“Good?”

Despite all intentions to appear composed, Peter could hardly lean forward for the next bite fast enough. His stomach clamored for more.

“Don’t get my fingers now,” Beck teased.

Peter’s face heated, but he chewed his pizza. Beck let him finish the entire slice without trying to shove it on his face or stuff it down his throat like he had feared, and he at least didn’t feel like he had been poisoned or further drugged yet.

“More?” Beck wiped pizza crust dust carelessly on the collar of Peter’s shirt, smirking when he cringed at the itchy feeling.

What would it hurt? He nodded, and Beck offered him another slice. At the same time, something in the back of his mind prickled. About to bite into the lovely oozy cheese, Peter snapped his mouth shut- just barely fast enough before Beck shoved the slice at him, grabbing his head to keep him from pulling away. He uttered a small squeak of alarm.

Someone else- Victoria- was grabbing him from behind now, holding him still, and she was laughing. Peter struggled, but it was useless against both her and the chair.

The food in Beck’s hand had transformed- it wasn’t pizza anymore, but an oozing, festering mass that dripped over his fingers. Peter could almost smell it despite the fact that it wasn’t real, and he scrambled to get away.

“You know Stark won’t give up anything for you,” said Beck. “We’re just waiting for him to give the word, and if you can’t tell us anything then we’ll kill you and bury you right outside and let you _rot_.” He shoved the abomination in his hand in Peter’s face.

It was unclear exactly what it was supposed to be, but it glistened with what looked like partially congealed blood. Moldering flesh slid from the edges, pulsing with maggots. Peter knew it wasn’t real, but he gagged and tried to turn away all the same. Victoria dug her fingers into his hair and held him still.

“I hope Tony finds you sooner rather than later, so he’ll _see_.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut against the sight, but it did nothing to block out the wild, rushing fear that filled his entire body. He could still see it, every detail, and he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want Tony to find him like that, _he didn’t want_ _to die_. Something slimy touched his face, and he shuddered.

“Don’t cry,” said Beck. “I thought you were still hungry?”

Peter tried to shake his head, but Victoria was still there, not that it mattered what he told them.

“I don’t know, I don’t think he’s had enough to eat.” Beck poked the slimy thing against Peter’s lips, and he could taste the blood that wasn’t even there.

“Definitely,” said Victoria. “We wouldn’t want him to starve yet.”

There were hands all over his face, trying to force his mouth open, and Peter fought them, already choking on the image still burned behind his eyelids. It occurred to him that they might just be playing with him now, and he dared to look in hopes that the illusion had already ended. It hadn’t. The thing still oozed, the maggots squirming almost as furiously as Peter’s insides were.

It was just pizza, he repeated to himself. It was just pizza, and it wasn’t real, none of it was real, but even the thick smell coming off it turned his stomach. Beck stuffed the festering thing in his mouth ( _just pizza_ ) and he stifled a horrified whimper at the still-warm slime. Maybe it was the maggots, he couldn’t tell.

_It wasn’t real_. Peter tried to find any detail to confirm this to himself, but all he could feel was the squishy mass.

“Eat it.” Beck clamped his hand hard over Peter’s mouth and nose, and he couldn’t breathe. Panicking, he swallowed, and the blood and the maggots slithered down his throat while he cried silently.

“There.”

Beck’s hand went away, but before Peter could even take a breath his throat lurched upward and he vomited, all along his right sleeve when he couldn’t turn his head fast enough. Beck released the cuffs on the arms of the chair with a disgusted noise, and he slumped to his hands and knees on the floor and heaved again and again, bringing up everything he’d eaten. It all tasted like blood now, and he kept gagging long after there was nothing left in his stomach.

“You’re adorable,” said Victoria.

Peter laid his head down on the cold floor, gasping and trembling with exhaustion.

“We get that?” Beck called out to someone.

“Got it,” said William from behind the curtain.

“Perfect.”

Something smacked onto the floor near Peter’s face: a slice of pizza with most of the cheese scraped off. He had to swallow hard against the smell.

“In case you get hungry again later.”

Beck and Victoria left, off somewhere he didn’t see, and Peter curled up shivering on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading, please comment if you enjoyed!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends, it’s not technically Sunday in my timezone yet, but happy Sunday! I hope this update finds you all still healthy and not too stressed out in this crazy time.
> 
> This is a very illusion-heavy chapter, but we’ll get back to Beck’s more devious ways soon.

  
Tony thought he might throw up, too. It wasn’t just the illusion, which was truly horrifying, but the fact that it was _Peter_ being subjected to it. Peter having that image shoved in his face, Peter being told Tony wouldn’t save him, Peter sick and shaking on the floor.

Quentin Beck was a dead man.

As soon as Tony found him, that was. A trace on the first message had yielded nothing, and he doubted the second would be more successful. Meanwhile, however, the second was still playing, and Tony forced himself to watch it despite the overwhelming desire to smash the screen.

The camera lingered greedily on Peter’s curled-up form on the floor. He was shivering, and Tony wondered whether it was with cold or fear. Probably both. He blinked rapidly, and just like that Peter disappeared from his sight to be replaced by a smiling Beck promising more to come. Tony swallowed bile.

If Beck had gotten his message, the meticulously-worded response he and Pepper and Rhodey had labored over, he didn’t let on. Not that Tony was surprised- it hadn’t exactly been what someone like him would want to hear. It wasn’t promising, for one thing, and for another, frankly, it was _boring_. Beck wanted drones, but if there was anything he wanted almost as badly, it was drama.

Tony had always been good at making a scene. If Beck wanted his drama, he would have it.

“FRIDAY, be a dear and give this asshole a call.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Boss,” she said, in that sometimes maddeningly calm voice of hers. “That would require access to-“

“Yeah, I thought so.” Tony scowled. “Can we send a recording of our own, then?”

“I believe that is what he would prefer.”

“Good.” Tony settled in front of his computer. “Start.”

Beck was nowhere around, but it was easy for Tony to imagine his stupid face. It was even easier to imagine smashing it in with a repulsor, but best to take things one at a time.

“I don’t think we need any introductions, but in case you forgot who I am-“ his voice vibrated with anger, and he paused to take off his glasses- “this is Tony Stark.”

He gripped his knee so hard that his fingers turned white, although Beck couldn’t see.

“I got your videos. I actually replied to the first one, but maybe you were too busy to notice.”

Maybe this was a bad idea; Tony already felt like he was shaking all over.

“You know, I can’t help thinking there may have been a mix-up here. Here I thought I was the only one who could get what you want for you, but then I turn around and you’ve kidnapped my intern instead.”

 _My kid_ , he almost said. _You took my kid_.

“Ordinarily, this is where I would appeal to your humanity and tell you he’s only fifteen, he’s never done anything to you, he actually _liked_ you to a certain extent, but I won’t waste both of our time telling you things you already know.” Tony fixed Beck with a look anyway.

_You know all that. You know he’s innocent, you know he’s good, and you’re hurting him._

“I will tell you one thing: you’re absolutely right about the drones. I have them, all fifty that you want and hundreds more, and I’m the only one who knows how to get to them.” He allowed himself a tiny smile for that one satisfaction.

”And when I find you, because I will, they’ll all be pointed at you.” Tony leaned toward the camera, not caring anymore if Beck could see him shaking with rage. “If you so much as _touch_ that kid, there will be nowhere in this world- or any other- where you can hide.”

~

Peter shivered. They had taken his shirt, saying he smelled (he did) and left him alone again in the middle of the big, empty room. His head swam, and he longed to curl up and let sleep take him, but the floor was like ice against his bare skin when he tried. So there he sat, swaying slightly, huddled close to the awful metal chair like it could guard him from the shadows around the edges of the room. He shivered again.

There was an argument going on in the other room, but the echoes were too bad for him to make out most of what was being said. He should probably try to understand- it was most likely about him, after all- but it wasn’t like he could do much about whatever he might hear. Unless Beck and his gang were about to kill each other like the Orcs in _Lord of the_ _Rings_ had a habit of doing- then he would have a chance to escape.

Sadly, the voices in the other room didn’t sound quite intense enough for all that, and soon they resolved and went back to normal. One of the doors opened and Beck and William came out, and Peter huddled closer to the chair like it would protect him. William passed him right by and disappeared behind the curtain. Peter wondered why they even bothered with the curtain now that he knew what was going on.

Beck tossed something in his direction and Peter almost screamed, but it was only a t-shirt that landed harmlessly in his lap.

“You looked cold.”

That was a bit of an understatement; Peter’s hands shook with cold as he examined the shirt. It wasn’t his, and he felt every inch of it inside and out for tricks, shook it out as far away from himself as he could reach, even smelled it just to be sure. Definitely Beck’s- Peter recognized his scent from the hours he’d spent huddled close to the man when they had supposedly been in this together. 

It felt wrong to accept his shirt now, but it was too cold not to, and Peter was fairly certain now that anything bad it did would have to be strictly illusions. He pulled it on over his head, not bothering to put his arms through the sleeves, and stayed still for a moment. What he really needed was a source of heat, not just a way to hold on to what little he had left, but it was something. He breathed down the collar to trap the warm air in with himself.

Even that brief comfort was too good to last, however. Still wrapped in the shirt, Peter looked to Beck again.

“What?”

“You know I don’t really believe you care if I’m cold, right?”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Beck shrugged.  
“But since I don’t care, I thought I might as well give you a shirt. Unless you want me to take it back?”

Peter shook his head, tightening his fingers in the thin fabric around him.

“Good choice.” Beck looked to the curtain-place where William was. “Get a recording going.”

Immediately, Peter’s breath caught in his throat and he drew back, putting the chair between himself and Beck, even though there was nowhere to hide. He didn’t remove his arms from the shirt, instead cowering inside it like it might shield him from whatever was to come.

“Hold on!” Beck was laughing, but with a pitying expression that made Peter feel like throwing up again. “Not everything’s about you, Peter; I have a message for your boss first. You’ve got a minute.”

 _How very comforting_. Peter seethed quietly inside the shirt, even while his heart pounded so hard that it felt like it would dislodge his lungs.

“I’m sorry I have to do this,” Beck went on. “I’d rather not, but you just had to be such a good person to get to this point, and now Stark’s being stubborn, and I really don’t have another option.”

A single drone circled them, almost completely silent, and Peter squeezed himself into an even smaller ball. 

“Hello again, Tony,” said Beck, pacing some distance away. “As you can see, Peter’s doing just fine. A little nervous right now, obviously, but I’m sure you’ll understand.”

The drone and presumably the camera circled around toward Peter, and he didn’t even try to make himself look brave, curled up inside a shirt like he was.

“Of course I’m a little frightened myself; your threat really has us all shaking over here.”

Beck paused, smiling, and Peter looked up. Tony had responded?

“I couldn’t help but notice your word choice,” Beck continued. “I thought surely someone as smart as you claim to be would consider what you said more carefully, but here we are. I’m not going to _touch_ him at all.”

The room went dark, and Peter couldn’t stop the little cry that escaped him. He buried his head against his knees and squeezed his eyes shut so tight it hurt.

 _It wasn’t real. Whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t real_.

“I can make his worst fears come true- I don’t _need_ to touch him.”

 _Not real_. There was a rumble above him, the sound of a ceiling cracking, and Peter curled up tighter. If he didn’t look, the illusion couldn’t get him.

“Peter!”

His eyes snapped open. He wasn’t in the silo anymore, but near the top of a large building, maybe a parking garage, squinting in the daylight. The walls trembled, and fist-sized chunks of concrete rained down. Even though it wasn’t real, it felt like his heart seized up.

“Peter help!”

 _No_. It wasn’t real, he wasn’t there.

“Ned?” Peter struggled to free his arms from the shirt.

“Over here!”

His feet moved without his even telling them to. Real or not, illusion or not, it was _Ned_ , and Peter ran.

The building was a maze of walls and pillars, all trembling and shuddering and cracking, and he skidded from one room to the other, slipping on concrete pebbles and dust, with no idea where he was going other than to find Ned and get out. The ceiling chose his path for him, and he scrambled, dodging chunks of concrete that left gaping holes in the floor behind him.

“Peter, where are you?”

“I’m coming!”

He crashed around a corner and there was Ned, huddled in the shadow of one of the few pillars that was still relatively stable. An almighty roar sounded from above, and the floor buckled and cracked; the entire building was coming down.

“Come on, we gotta-“

One moment, Ned was there. The next, Peter was faced with a thundering wall of tumbling concrete. Then empty space.

_It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real._

Peter couldn’t move. The wind whistled below him, blowing dust into his face, and the still-falling ceiling around him seemed to slow.

 _Not real_.

But the building was still collapsing, and he could either jump or fall with it and be crushed. He jumped.

The ground rushed up to meet him, fast, faster than he could have imagined, and he hit hard before he could even think about his webs. He kept falling, crashing through the pavement like it was glass, and the shards fell all around him. One- taller than he was- drove deeply into the floor just inches from where he stood, and he leaped out of the way of another with an inhuman cry. The next one would go right through him, or if he he managed to avoid it, it would be the one after that. He couldn’t keep dodging them for long.

It was too much, and he wrapped his arms around his head. The crashing of the deadly shards continued around him, but he stayed in place, jumping slightly at each impact, and braced himself.

The crashing stopped, the shards stopped falling, and Peter finally dared to raise his head. He was in the dim light of the silo again, and the illusion was over. 

Ned was safe. Peter was safe, too, relatively speaking. He took a breath to slow his heart rate down.

“You made it,” said Beck.

All Peter’s progress toward calming himself down went out the metaphorical window, and he flinched away.

“Jumpy today, aren’t we?”

There was no real reason to avoid Beck himself; it was the illusions Peter feared, but he backed up anyway.

“I need to find a way to keep better track of you.” Beck approached him slowly, like he was hunting him, and Peter backed up further. “I don’t have so many options when you’re in the chair, but you always seem to run away from me when you’re not.”

He rubbed his beard, considering, and Peter pressed himself against the wall.

“Oh I know.” The gun appeared in his hand out of thin air, too late for Peter to react, and the beam of light from it caught him squarely in the chest. He doubled over, clutching at it with a strangled gasp, expecting the pain, expecting to die, but it didn’t come.

He looked up at Beck again. “What was that?”

“You’ll see.” Beck gave him a smile that would have been reassuring on literally anyone else. “It won’t hurt you.”

Something was very wrong. Beck was getting taller, making Peter feel like a child in comparison, and he wasn’t stopping. The floor was getting closer, the room widening, the walls rising. Peter looked around wildly, blinked hard, but it didn’t stop, and the realization hit him like his heart had fallen into his stomach.

Beck and the room weren’t growing. _He_ was _shrinking_.

Peter clutched at the wall behind him like he could somehow hold on and slow his descent toward the floor. He couldn’t be much taller than Beck’s knee by now, and it wasn’t stopping, he was still shrinking, and he wanted to cry out but the only sound he could manage was a strangled squeak. Trying to hold on to the wall was no good, and he wrapped his arms around himself like that would keep him together.

Finally it stopped, finally he stopped shrinking. He was smaller than Beck’s hand now, probably about as tall as one of his fingers, and he huddled in on himself like he could avoid the giant man’s gaze by making himself even smaller.

“That’s better,” said Beck, starting toward him.

Peter cowered against the wall, gasping and completely failing to take in what he was seeing.

“Much more manageable now.” Beck crouched down in front of him while Peter fought a very real desire to curl up on the floor and just start crying. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Go away,” Peter choked out.

“Aw, that’s not very nice,” Beck chided. “If it helps, I promise not to eat you.”

The entire world swooped around Peter’s head, and he stumbled into the wall.

“Deep breaths. It’s time to get you settled in your new home.” Beck set down a plastic container like the one Matilda the spider had occupied.

At least Matilda wasn’t there. It could always be worse.

“I imagine you don’t want me picking you up more than I have to.” Beck opened the lid of the container and set it on its side. “Go on in.”

Peter hesitated. It wasn’t like he had the option of running away or fighting, but he couldn’t just walk into the cage. In the absence of a decision, he hugged himself tighter.

“Go on.” Beck reached for him, and he jumped away, unfortunately toward the plastic cage. “There you go, don’t stop again- you were doing so well!”

Peter squeaked when Beck’s fingertip, roughly the size of his head, prodded him in the back, and he ran ahead of it. It followed him, herding him toward the cage, but at this point plastic confinement almost sounded like a welcome refuge, and he fled inside.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Beck was closing the lid behind him, but Peter didn’t care; he just wanted to be away, as far away as possible, from the giant.

He took a step back, away from the enormous hands, and his arm brushed against something prickly. He screamed.

Matilda _was_ there.

Peter tried to jump away- too fast- and fell flat on the floor. Already hyperventilating, he didn’t even try to get up and scrambled to the door. 

This must be an illusion, it had to be. He would have seen otherwise, surely he would have noticed… unless the illusion had been what kept him from seeing.

Matilda stretched a thick, hairy leg in his direction, and Peter didn’t even care about the sound of pure terror that escaped him. He was plastered against the lid with nowhere to go, and the spider was _watching_ him with her too-many eyes, and he couldn’t move. 

He had to move. With every ounce of control he had left, he turned. It was painfully slow, as his limbs shook against whatever invisible force was holding them in place, but he managed at least to turn enough to see Beck through the plastic.

“Beck-“ It came out as a strangled whisper, and he struggled for a breath to try again. “Beck!”

The man paid him no attention. Peter looked back at Matilda, who had gathered herself into a more threatening pose. At least he thought so; he wasn’t an expert in spider body language. The giant fangs twitched.

“Oh god.” Peter turned desperately back around. “Oh my- Beck _help_ me!” His whole body shook as he pounded against the plastic wall. “Please, please, you gotta- you _can’t_! You can’t, you-“

Matilda had crept closer, and Peter buried himself against the wall with a terrified whimper. He couldn’t even call out anymore, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but watch the spider and shake, every fiber of every muscle tense. It felt like he was going to break into pieces at any moment.

The spider lunged, and he buried himself in his arms, not even able to make a sound.

Nothing happened. No hairy legs overwhelmed him, no fangs sank into his body. Trembling, Peter dared to peek out from his arms.

Matilda was gone. He was in the silo, alone, and everything was the right size again- or at least it appeared that way. Exhausted and still shaking, he slumped to the floor.

“It wasn’t real.” He rolled onto his back, gulping air into his lungs while he fought to regain some semblance of control. “Not real.”

The cold floor was reassuring underneath him, and he lay pressed to it until his chest stopped heaving and he felt like he could breathe again. Slowly, he sat up and looked around.

He was still in the big room of the silo, sitting on the floor near the back wall. The chair was still there, normal-sized again (he might go feel it just to be sure) and so was the curtain where William controlled the illusions. Beck was nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, Peter scanned the room again, and froze. A narrow beam of light shone across the floor: free, bright, outdoor light.

 _The door was ajar_.

He blinked, but it was still there. Still open. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe or take his eyes off the sight in front of him, he stood up. A chilly breeze wafted across the room as he crept across the floor.

No one was there. Peter’s heart beat faster and faster as he neared the door. With a final glance behind himself, he flung it wide and threw himself out into the light.

He didn’t think he’d ever run like that before, taking huge breaths of the clear, bright air. The woods stretched out in front of him, promising escape, and his legs pumped hard to propel him to safety, to freedom, and there, in the distance...

“ _Mr. Stark_!”

Tony didn’t turn, hadn’t seen him yet, but he was there, he would help him, he-

Peter slammed full speed into a wall.

The force of the impact knocked every last scrap of air from his lungs, and the world reeled wildly around his splitting head. The blaring alarm wasn’t helping matters, and neither was the clamor of crashing and shouting coming from the silo door.

Dazed, Peter reached out into the empty air in front of him, and his fingers met a solid barrier. He aching head protested that that shouldn’t be possible, but there was no time to think. Beck was coming.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter croaked, still wheezing from the hit.

He looked back. Beck and his people were coming, and they were going to get him and drag him back inside, and he couldn’t, he couldn’t-

“Mr. Stark!” he cried, stronger. “Help me!”

The man in the distance didn’t turn.

They were almost on him, and there was nowhere to go. Peter pressed himself against the barrier like he could squeeze through by osmosis or by sheer force of will. Hot tears streamed down his face while he screamed and pleaded for Tony to hear him.

Tony didn’t turn around when they reached him and seized him with too many hands that he wasn’t strong enough to fight off. He didn’t see when Peter clawed his fingers raw against the barrier, or hear his cries as they dragged him back. He started to walk away, and a sob wrenched up from Peter’s chest.

“Okay kill it.”

The world dissolved in blue pixels, and Peter found himself straining toward the featureless wall of the silo.

The grasping hands let go, but Peter didn’t move. He couldn’t take his eyes from the wall. Something welled up inside him and then he was crying again, harsh, gasping sobs that threatened to shake him to pieces. A single pair of hands took him by the shoulders, almost gently, and he didn’t resist when Beck led him to the chair and made him sit down.

He didn’t fight when the restraints snapped closed around his wrists, only gripped the arms of the chair so hard it hurt.

“Peter, I have a camera here.” Beck’s voice was impossibly soft. “You can send a message to Tony if you like.”

Peter ducked his head and choked out a particularly painful sob. He couldn’t let Tony see this.

The camera-drone made it impossible to hide his face, but he sucked in a shuddering breath and tried to hold it, tried to make himself stop, but it didn’t work. The effort only made his injured head feel like it would explode.

“Isn’t there anything you’d like to say to him?”

No matter how he tried to control it, Peter’s body continued to shake with wrenching sobs. If he could have managed to speak, he would undoubtedly have broken down and begged Tony to save him, but he could barely breathe, much less form understandable words. The drone continued to circle him, documenting his broken state for Tony to see, and Beck didn’t ask him to talk again, finally leaving him to his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to fantastic productivity over spring break and the following extensions, I am pleased to announce weekly updates starting now.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! You have no idea what an encouragement your kind comments are to me, and I really appreciate all of you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right friends, here it is, pretty much the first idea I had for this fic, which I’ve been sitting on this whole time. This is why the tags say “Beck is pretty evil” and “it gets dark though” because I am a mean, vicious writer who revels in pain and suffering.
> 
> Enjoy!

  
When Peter woke up, he wasn’t sure where he was. His head ached, and he reached up to feel dried blood caked on his forehead and matted in his hairline. His back hurt, too, which probably had something to do with the awkward way he was slumped against a wall, but his stiff muscles protested even the smallest movement.

Groaning softly, he dragged his eyes open and struggled to sit up. His feet bumped against a wall in front of him, and he braced his hands against two cool, smooth walls on either side.

That wasn’t right. Now fully awake with his heart already going into overdrive, Peter got his first real look at his surroundings.

Glass surrounded him on all sides, like the inside of a fish tank. The area was cramped, barely big enough for him to sit down with his legs just halfway stretched, but the tank itself was tall, at least six feet. Breathing hard, Peter hurried to stand up and touched one of the walls. It certainly felt like real glass, either that or some kind of advanced plastic- definitely not illusion-covered concrete, or so he assumed.

Peter frowned and moved on to further examine the tank, and froze at the sight of the large pipe leading in at about knee level. He touched the wall again to steady himself, but it was no comfort. He felt dizzy.

“Finally awake?” 

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin and stumbled back against the wall of his glass prison when Beck appeared out of nowhere.

“So here’s the deal.” Beck folded his arms, and while it was an improvement over his nauseating false sympathy, the change made Peter uneasy. “Stark isn’t giving me what I want, and I’m getting tired of waiting on him. Now I know you can’t tell me how to get into his database or anything like that, but I do know you know something.”

For a long moment, Peter couldn’t move or think. His mind felt terrifyingly blank.

“I’m not going to hurt him, as long as he doesn’t try to fight me,” said Beck. “I just want to give him a little push along, since our videos clearly don’t seem to be working.”

“He’s coming,” said Peter stubbornly. 

“Any human being would have agreed to my terms by now and gotten you home.”

“He can’t.” Peter said it just as much to remind himself. “You’d hurt more people if he let you have what you want, and he’s coming to get me anyway. You’ll see.”

“Well he’s not here yet, and you have the floor.” Beck gestured mockingly to Peter’s fish tank. “Tell me about the lab.”

The lab. Peter’s eyes stung. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but he could picture it easily: organized in its own messy way, DUM-E rolling around, Tony... Tony asking him if he wanted to stay for dinner, throwing an arm casually around his shoulders while they admired a successful project, laughing when he woke up under a blanket on the couch with no memory of falling asleep there.

Tony yelling at him and telling him to leave. Peter’s eyes stung worse.

“I’m waiting.” Beck pulled him out of his thoughts. “Have you ever gotten in while he wasn’t there?”

He had, actually, but that wasn’t something Beck needed to be doing, so he said nothing.

Beck heaved a sigh. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“I can’t tell you anything.”

“Honestly, just stop, for your own sake. You’ve gotten yourself into enough trouble trying to be a good person already. Sometimes you have to look out for yourself instead.”

“I’m not helping you hurt Mr. Stark.” Peter hoped his voice sounded firm.

Beck shook his head. “You’re too pure for your own good, kid.”

Peter wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t, but he stared him down.

“Okay, I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Beck crossed to the valve on the pipe that ran from the wall to the tank.

Peter’s breathing immediately sped up, but he held himself stiffly upright. “This isn’t real.”

Beck raised his eyebrows and turned the valve. Water rushed from the pipe and splashed over Peter’s feet, and he jumped back against the side of the tank, gasping at the cold.

“Even I get tired of illusions eventually,” said Beck, while the water rose around Peter’s ankles. “Besides, I thought this might be more effective.”

Peter could only watch with a sort of horrified fascination as the tank continued to fill, and it grew quiet as the water reached the level of the pipe. He pressed his back to the wall, unconsciously clawing at the smooth surface for something to hold on to.

“Tell me how to get into Tony’s lab while he isn’t there.”

The water was still rising, filling the tank while panic filled Peter’s chest. His hands shook against the glass, and he struggled for a deep breath. “If you kill me, you won’t find out what I know, _and_ you won’t have anything to hold over Mr. Stark anymore.”

“I’m not going to kill you.” Beck turned to valve farther, and the water rose faster. “I’m not planning on it, anyway.”

“So you won’t.” Peter huffed out a shudder as the water rose up past his chest.

“I’ll do my best, but you’re not making it easy.” Beck watched calmly while Peter began awkwardly treading water in the small space. “If something goes wrong, I do have a couple clips Tony hasn’t seen yet, or I could always cut off a finger to send him instead.”

Peter’s breath came in short gasps. The top of the tank was too close and growing closer, but he couldn’t avoid it. Beck was still talking to him, but he could barely hear over the rush of the water and the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears. The combination of the cold and his own losing battle against panic made his arms tremble so badly that they were almost useless.

“Peter!” Beck’s voice cut momentarily through the haze of fear. “You don’t have to do this. Just say you’ll tell me, and this stops.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t tell him. Peter choked out a little sob and shook his head, which now brushed against the top of the tank.

There was so little room left. So little air. Peter tilted his head back above the water and felt his own rapid breaths puffing back at him off the ceiling. His hands shook and scrabbled against the glass, but there was no way to escape and nothing to hold on to.

Six inches. Four inches. The water climbed up Peter’s face, and he couldn’t stop a violent shudder that rocked his whole body. Scared tears mixed with the water around him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the rapidly closing gap above him. He could barely come up for air without bumping his nose on the top of the glass, and he whimpered quietly into the tiny space. It was almost used up.

“Please, _please_ …”

He crammed himself against the ceiling, gasping desperately for every last molecule of air, and then it was gone.

Peter’s body reacted immediately, lashing out against the walls, clawing at the ceiling, while blind panic gripped him. The water stung his eyes, but he could only make out vague shapes beyond the walls of his flooded prison. His throat ached with the need to take a breath- he couldn’t _breathe_ \- and his vision darkened.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. Peter kicked out harder, in vain, against the smooth walls. This was it, this was how he died, and he wasn’t ready to go. He couldn’t go yet- he couldn’t die, but there was no way to fight the encroaching darkness.

Everything went black.

It was dark, and Peter was falling. He was being swept away with nothing to hold on to, powerless to even cry out in fear, and this was it. He tumbled onto a hard surface, and everything came to a stop.

 _Was he dead?_

Peter lay still, gasping for air and trembling all over. It was dark, except for an eerie blue glow around him, and he didn’t know where he was. He could feel his heart hammering fast enough to burst, and his hands felt solid against his chest, but even that was little reassurance in the cold darkness. The very air seemed to thrum with anxiety.

Slowly, he sat up, his breathing harsh and uneven in the quiet. Surely dead people couldn’t breathe, unless he only thought he was breathing because he’d never known anything different. He looked around in the ghostly blue light and nearly screamed at the sight in front of him.

It was _him_ , lying unnaturally pale and still on the floor, eyes open and staring blankly through him. Peter stared back, frozen in his own lifeless gaze. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He reached with shaking hands to touch the body in front of him, but they passed right through like mist.

 _His hands weren’t there_. He could feel them, but he couldn’t see them. Looking down at himself, he stared straight at the dark floor. _HE wasn’t there._

“Oh my god.” Peter couldn’t think. “Oh my god,” he whispered again.

He, or his body at least, if that was what was happening, still lay motionless in front of him, and his hands slipped right through as they had before.

“Wake up,” he rasped, with no idea which of them he was talking to. “Please wake up!”

His other self didn’t respond, and Peter felt frozen in place. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.

He probably wasn’t.

 _We’ll bury you right outside and let you_ rot.

“No.” Peter grabbed for his own shoulder like he could shake himself awake, but his immaterial hands had no effect. “No, come on, _wake up_!”

 _I hope Tony finds you sooner rather than later so he’ll_ see.

“Wake up!” Peter gasped out. It felt like he was crying, but he didn’t know anything anymore. “Please, _please_ wake up! They’re gonna- they’ll-“ He clawed helplessly at the floor where he should have been, shaking to pieces even though he wasn’t there.

All at once, the blue light vanished, and complete darkness swallowed him whole. Peter screamed.

He was laid on his back- he didn’t know by what- and it was dark, and it was too late. It was too late for him.

Something slammed hard against his chest, and he shot upright with a gasp. It wasn’t dark. He was in the silo, sopping wet and freezing, and he could breathe.

 _He wasn’t dead_. Peter started to shiver hard.

“There, you’re back.” Beck steadied him. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Peter shuddered violently and looked down at his chest. It was still there. Beck wrapped a towel or a blanket or something around him, but he barely felt it.

 _He’d been dead_. He’d _left_ \- he’d seen it. Peter huddled in on himself and shivered harder.

“Poor kid.” Beck chuckled slightly. “I just meant to scare you a little, but you freaked out and breathed in all that water, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to save you.”

He’d been dead. Peter shuddered through trying to take a deep breath.

“Jeez, now you’re making me feel bad.” Beck wrapped an arm around him, which he allowed. Actually, if he was honest, he leaned into it, shamefully seeking reassurance wherever he could find it. Beck was solid, and he was solid, and that meant he was alive.

“I’ll give you another chance to talk to Tony.” Beck rubbed his arm up and down, and Peter hated himself for finding comfort in it. “No agenda this time, just say what you want.”

 _He’d died_. Peter drew the blanket closer around himself.

“You wanna talk to Tony?”

Yes, he wanted Tony. He wanted anyone who could get him out of this place and make sure he wouldn’t _die_ again. Peter nodded shakily.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Beck got up and left him, and a drone hovered in front of him.

Peter hugged himself tighter and realized he didn’t know what to say, but he wanted desperately to say something, anything to know Tony might hear him.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” he began, and his voice gave out almost instantly. “I know you’re probably, um...”

_He’d died, he’d died, he’d seen himself dead._

“I’m okay.” Peter’s voice trembled over the lie, probably the biggest he’d ever told. “I’m- I’ll be...” He couldn’t do it. “Mr. Stark, please help me!”

His eyes welled with tears, but he was thankful they didn’t fall because then there would have been no stopping them, just like there was no stopping his words now.

“You can’t give him what he wants, but if you know where I am...” His voice broke again, and he had to wait a moment to regain it. “Please, _please_ help me. You don’t ever have to talk to me again, but I think he’s gonna kill me- he almost did, and I can’t get away, and I really, _really_ need you.”

He was getting dangerously close to crying again, and he looked shamefully away from the camera. There wasn’t anything else to say.

“That’s it.”

~

Progress. Progress was good. 

Tony shut his eyes briefly. If he could just get that last piece of code, that stupid piece, then they’d be somewhere. He could connect to the system and raid it for data, and scream at Beck in real time while he did it, too. If he was exceptionally lucky, he might even be able to get control of the drones, even for a second, and… well, it was something.

At this point, getting a message to Peter was almost as high on Tony’s priority list as actually finding him. He wanted, _needed_ , the kid to know he was trying, they were all trying. He wasn’t expendable, and he wasn’t forgotten.

 _There!_ He almost had it, the missing piece, all he had to do was-

Another message popped up, and Tony’s body went immediately both hot and cold.

 _Not again_.

He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t watch Peter be so afraid or scream for his help while he walked away again. He couldn’t watch him cry again. His hand shook over the keyboard.

A knock at the door made him jump, but it was only Rhodey, who took one look at his face and hurried to his side.

“Another one?”

“Yeah.” Tony felt like crying just thinking about it.

“I’ll tell you what he says,” said Rhodey, gently trying to move him from the chair. “Any clues, anything, I’ll let you know.”

“No!” Tony latched onto the desk. “No, I have to.”

“You don’t.” Rhodey tried again to move him, but he refused to be budged.

“It’s my fault he’s there, Rhodes.” Tony swallowed hard. “My fault. I at least owe this to him.”

Rhodey wavered, and Tony knew he had him. “I’m staying here.”

Tony nodded once and opened the file.

The camera zoomed in on a tall glass tank, with Peter slumped awkwardly in the bottom. He looked unharmed except for the blood on his face from where the illusion made him run into the wall, but Tony’s heart already felt too tight.

As he watched, Peter stirred and blinked, his hand going immediately to his blood-matted hair. He looked so confused, but then he stretched and felt the walls of the tank around him and the confusion quickly changed to fear. He already looked terrified, and Tony wanted nothing more than to get him out of there and wrap him up and tell him he was safe, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but watch while Peter took in the ominous glass prison, afraid and alone.

“Finally awake?”

Peter and Tony both startled at Beck’s voice. Peter actually flinched away against the glass wall.

“So here’s the deal,” said Beck, folding his arms. “Stark isn’t giving me what I want, and I’m getting tired of waiting on him. Now I know you can’t tell me how to get into his database or anything like that, but I do know you know something.”

Tony could actually see the moment when Peter shut down. He wasn’t going to give anything away, no matter how trivial- he’d already made up his mind. Tony wished he’d change it anyway.

“I’m not going to hurt him, as long as he doesn’t try to fight me,” said Beck. “I just want to give him a little push along, since our videos clearly don’t seem to be working.”

“He’s coming,” said Peter, with a certainty Tony could only hope he felt.

“Any human being would have agreed to my terms by now and gotten you home.”

Tony saw Peter’s confidence waver, and he wanted to throw himself through the nearest window.

“He can’t,” said Peter. “You’d hurt more people if he let you have what you want, and he’s coming to get me anyway. You’ll see.” It sounded like he was reciting from a book.

“Well he’s not here yet, and you have the floor.” Beck gestured mockingly to Peter’s glass prison like it was a stage.

The sound cut out when he asked a question, and Peter glazed over. He looked like he was about to cry while Beck continued to question him, and Tony wasn’t even able to tell what he was asking.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” said Beck when the sound came back.

“I can’t tell you anything,” said Peter, and Tony’s heart sank.

“Honestly, just stop, for your own sake,” said Beck. “You’ve gotten yourself into enough trouble trying to be a good person already. Sometimes you have to look out for yourself instead.”

Much as Tony hated it, he agreed. “Just tell him, kid,” he begged.

“I’m not helping you hurt Mr. Stark.” Peter straightened his posture, but Tony didn’t miss the little quiver in his voice. All his fault. He hadn’t protected the kid, but there Peter was, stubbornly focused on keeping _him_ safe.

“You’re too pure for your own good, kid,” said Beck, and once again Tony was almost inclined to agree.

Despite all his silent pleas, Peter didn’t budge, and Beck shook his head. “Okay, I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

Tony’s heart sped into overdrive, and he barely registered Rhodey’s hand squeezing his shoulder as Beck crossed to the valve connected to the tank.

“This isn’t real,” said Peter, like he was just trying to convince himself, and Tony hoped he was right, hoped it was an illusion- surely he’d realize this one quickly and then he’d be fine, maybe he wouldn’t even be scared once he found out it wasn’t real. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt him.

Beck raised his eyebrows and turned the valve, and Peter stumbled back as water poured into the tank. One look at the terror in his face was enough.

“No...” Tony breathed, and Rhodey’s hand squeezed tighter.

“Even I get tired of illusions sometimes,” said Beck, just to confirm his worst fears. “Besides, I thought this might be more effective.”

Tony couldn’t breathe. He watched Peter back himself up against the wall of the tank, hands shaking and chest heaving, while the water rose around him.

Surely Beck wouldn’t. He’d turn it off soon, he had to. He wasn’t really going to hurt him, he _couldn’t_. Tony clutched at his chair.

“If you kill me, you won’t find out what I know, _and_ you won’t have anything to hold over Mr. Stark anymore,” said Peter, remarkably, scarily calm while he bargained for his life.

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Beck, but he turned the water on faster. “I’m not planning on it, anyway.”

“So you won’t.” Peter shuddered while the water rose past his chest, and Tony could feel him starting to panic as he was forced to kick off from the bottom to keep his head above it.

“I’ll do my best, but you’re not making it easy.” 

Beck said more, but the sound was gone again, not that Tony was paying attention to him anymore. He could only watch Peter, terrified and struggling while the space of air grew smaller and smaller above him.

This couldn’t be happening. Beck was going to stop it soon, and he’d be fine. He’d be scared, but he’d be fine.

Peter was squeezed against the last few inches of the tank, and his face was almost too painful to look at. Tony wasn’t breathing anymore. He watched Peter’s fear continue to grow while the space shrank, and then it filled.

“No.” Tony started to stand up like he could actually do something, but of course he couldn’t, and his eyes stayed glued to the screen.

He was watching Peter drown. Beck was killing him, and he was going to see his kid die, terrified and alone, and there was absolutely nothing he could do. Even if there was, it had already happened. Whatever had happened, it was done now, and Peter was either saved at the last second and traumatized, or he was dead. He could already be dead, and Tony’s ribs felt like they were imploding.

Beck was tapping something into a device on his arm, not even watching Peter losing his mind trying to claw his way out of the tank, and Tony wanted to scream at him. He couldn’t do this, he HAD to let him go- he _couldn’t_ let this happen!

Drones circled around the tank and the image blurred, prompting Peter to struggle harder, and then it went dark. An entire wall of the tank was pulled up and out of the way, and the water rushed out, carrying Peter along with it and throwing him to the floor. He rolled onto his back, and Tony sucked in a shaking breath.

Peter lay still in the strange blue darkness, and although he was still terrified, the rise and fall of his chest was the most beautiful sight in the world. He could breathe. He could breathe, and he was alive, and Tony shook in relief like he’d been drowning, too.

The water on the floor flowed slowly into the drain at the center, and a projection appeared in its place. Tony flinched terribly at the sight. It was another Peter, but this one wasn’t breathing. He lay too still and too pale, his eyes open and vacant. It was clearly an illusion- the real Peter was right there- but Tony had to swallow hard against the horror that turned his stomach.

The real Peter sat up slowly, looking around himself, and froze when his gaze landed on the image, and Tony realized with a sinking feeling exactly what Beck was doing.

Peter reached out for the image, but his shaking hands passed right through. The illusion had turned him the same dark blue as the surrounding room, practically invisible, but Tony could still see his outline huddled there.

“It’s not real, kid,” he murmured. “You’re alright.”

Peter didn’t hear him and tried to reach out again, begging the illusion to wake up, growing more and more frantic with each passing second. He was gasping and pleading- he might have been crying, but it was impossible to tell. Tony couldn’t imagine the fear, the confusion, and it felt like his heart was being slowly torn from his chest.

“Please, _please_ wake up!” Peter’s hands scrabbled helplessly at the floor where the illusion was. “They’re gonna- they’ll-“

The room plunged into complete darkness, and Peter’s scream was the worst sound Tony had ever heard.

The lights came on seconds later to show Peter scrambling upright again and looking around wildly, immediately beginning to shake.

“There, you’re back.” Beck leaned over him with sickening concern. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Tony bristled with rage when Beck wrapped a towel around his kid, who huddled in on himself and continued to shiver.

“Poor kid.” Beck chuckled, like it was all a joke. “I just meant to scare you a little, but you freaked out and breathed in all that water, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to save you.”

Peter thought he’d been _dead_. He thought he’d drowned and Beck had revived him at the last second. Beck wrapped an arm around him, and he actually leaned into it, searching for comfort wherever he could find it. Tony’s chest twisted painfully.

“I’ll give you another chance to talk to Tony,” said Beck. “No agenda this time, just say what you want.”

Peter drew the towel closer around himself and shuddered. 

“You wanna talk to Tony?”

Peter nodded, just barely, and Beck left him alone while the camera moved closer. The haunted look in his eyes hurt Tony’s soul.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” he began, and his voice broke. “I know you’re probably, um...” 

He looked at the floor, eyes wide but almost as expressionless as the illusion’s had been. He was remembering, and he was so goddamn _scared_ , and there was nothing Tony could do to comfort him or even keep him safe.

“I’m okay.” Peter’s voice trembled. “I’m- I’ll be-“ He broke off, and when he looked at the camera again there were tears in his eyes. “Mr. Stark, please help me!”

Tony leaned toward the screen like that would actually bring him closer.

“You can’t give him what he wants, but if you know where I am...” Peter’s voice broke again, and he struggled to regain it. “Please, _please_ help me. You don’t ever have to talk to me again, but I think he’s gonna kill me- he almost did, and I can’t get away, and I really, _really_ need you.”

“Oh kid.” Tony almost reached out for the screen, and his own eyes felt wet.

Peter looked away like he was ashamed. “That’s it.”

The recording ended, and Tony stayed where he was. His throat was too tight, and his eyes felt like they were straining.

“Tony...”

“I’m giving him the drones.” Tony stood up, shaking Rhodey’s hand from his shoulder.

“Tony.” Rhodey tried to hold him, and he squirmed in his grip.

“Let go of me.”

“You can’t let him-“

“I said let GO!”

“Tony, listen to me. If you give him what he wants, the kid’s toast. You know that.”

Tony did know that. He collapsed into the chair again, helpless. “They’re hurting him, Rhodes.”

“We’re working on getting him back.”

“He doesn’t even think I want to.” Tony had to clamp a hand over his mouth and close his eyes momentarily. “He’s all alone and he’s _scared_ , did you see how scared he was?”

“I saw.” Rhodey tried to touch his shoulder again. “We’ll find him, Tony.”

Tony buried his face in his hands.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that lived up to what I said at the beginning. I thought it was good, anyway. Let me know what you guys think.
> 
> Also I have a tumblr account now, so come say hi! I’m just an-odd-idea.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still not entirely happy with this chapter. Parts of it I really like, but there are some places where it’s just so awkwardly written that I don’t even know.
> 
> But at a certain point, you gotta accept “good” instead of running yourself ragged over “perfect” and I think it’s good.

  
Peter couldn’t stop shivering.

It was strange that his body could muster the strength to do that, when he felt exhausted down to his bones. Even those were quickly giving way while he shook, sopping wet in the cold room, and he thought he would surely fall to pieces if he kept at it much longer.

“Okay, that’s a problem,” said Beck, somewhere behind him, but Peter couldn’t even summon the energy to be scared anymore. “Peter?”

He huddled further in on himself, shivering violently under his damp towel-blanket. His jaw ached with how tightly he had it clenched to keep his teeth from chattering.

“I know, I know. I’m not actually trying to kill you yet, I swear.” Beck moved in front of him, way too close, and grabbed one of his feet to start picking at the wet knots of his shoelaces. “Clothes, Janice, and the other heater.”

Peter made a weak attempt to tug his foot away, but Beck wasn’t having it, now pulling his shoe off. “I’m trying to help.”

“I don’ want...”

“I don’t care what you want. You _need_ to get warm and go to sleep.”

That... didn’t sound half bad, actually. If it had been anyone other than Beck, Peter would have welcomed the idea, but it _was_ Beck, and he just shivered, too cold to actually protest. Beck removed his shoes and socks and tried to take his blanket, which Peter dug his shaking fingers into and held on.

“That’s wet.”

Peter pulled it closer about himself anyway.

“You can have a dry one, come on.” Beck pulled it easily out of his trembling grasp. “Arms up.”

Peter scowled and tried to hold on to himself this time, but Beck wrestled his freezing shirt over his head anyway, leaving him exposed to the cold air. Without the wet shirt pressed against him anymore, his body almost believed it was warmer.

Janice returned with a bundle of clothes that she tossed at Beck, and Peter didn’t protest the dry shirt being put on. Then Beck’s hands reached for his jeans, and he recoiled, trying to push them away as much as his own shaking hands would allow.

“Relax. I’m not even looking.”

Closing his eyes, Peter allowed himself to be undressed like a toddler- not that he had much of a choice- and then pulled to his feet and helped into a pair of ill-fitting sweatpants. His boxers were still wet and cold and uncomfortable, but he was grateful for that one shred of dignity, at least. 

Peter continued to shiver while Beck threw another blanket over him. The cord of the space heater didn’t reach far enough for him to feel any warmth from it yet, but he imagined it would help eventually.

Beck patted him once on the shoulder and left him there. All the lights went out.

Peter tried to open his eyes, but they only stretched wider, covered by the thick darkness. It felt too much like the darkness before, and his heart pounded weakly against his ribs. He squeezed his own shoulder hard to be sure it was still there. That wasn’t enough, and he crawled in search the little heater, reaching out blindly after the warmer air, until he nearly burned his fingers on the front of it.

He still couldn’t see, but he could touch, and he could feel pain, so he must be alive.

Just the short journey across the floor had sapped what little energy he had managed to regain, and his head nodded heavily despite his unease. Still shivering, he rolled himself in his blanket and curled into a tight ball on the floor, as close to the heater as he could get without burning himself again. Even without touching, the air was uncomfortably hot on his face, but the tingles that ran through the rest of him as he began to warm up, ever so slowly, were more than worth it.

The heat was comforting, too: a reminder he was there and not drowning or dead or buried outside. It was enough to lull him slightly, and then his exhaustion took care of the rest and sent him crashing into sleep.

...

Peter woke up to blinding light, curled up on a rooftop.

He didn’t remember falling asleep there; the buzzing in his ears told him he might have been knocked out instead, but he didn’t remember being in any kind of fight either. In fact, the last thing he remembered was being inside a silo, being scared, but he definitely wasn’t there now. Frowning, Peter looked around, and realized what the buzzing in his head was from.

Aliens. Hundreds of them, filling the sky above New York (again). Peter tried to get up, and his heart gave a sick lurch when he found he couldn’t move.

He was trapped in a net of some sort, which was wrapped all over and around his body and pinning his arms and legs. To his dismay, he found the fabric held even when he tried to rip his way free, and it took several seconds of frantic struggling before he finally got himself untangled.

“All right, Queens?”

Captain America jogged over and extended a hand to help him up. Peter’s senses flared a warning as he took it; they probably remembered the jet bridge at the airport. Steve helped him to his feet, but there was something wrong, something wrong in his face, his eyes-

The unexpected hit threw Peter off balance and sent him stumbling backwards, and before he could right himself Steve was on him, hands clawing for his throat, pure hatred seething in his eyes. Peter yelped in alarm, but his strength seemed to have deserted him.

“What’re you- stoppit!” He raised his arms helplessly to defend his face, but the furious man overpowered him easily. Confusion far outpaced his fear.

Something came whistling through the air, followed by a sickening thud, and Steve’s body crumpled to the rooftop. His head landed beside it.

Peter stared.

“All right, Queens?”

He whipped around, only to see Captain America jogging toward him again.

“Stay away!” Peter held out his hands, glancing rapidly between the two of them while the blood spread out across the roof.

“It’s okay.” Living-Steve raised one hand, the other held his shield. “They’re shapeshifters, look.”

Peter looked, and saw to his utter horror that the blood oozing from the severed head wasn’t blood at all, but a dark goop that was slowly moving, practically _crawling_ , toward the body. It turned black, growing into a gleaming exoskeleton while pincers as long as Peter’s arm began to twitch. He shuffled backward on the rooftop, away from the creature that had once been a version of Steve. The real Steve’s shield made it still again.

“They come back after you kill ‘em, and then you have to kill ‘em again, but then they stay.” Steve freed his shield with a grunt. “At least they stay longer. You good?”

“Yeah.” Peter shook himself slightly, wondering what other important information his knock to the head had erased.

There was definitely something he didn’t know, he could feel it, but he was running out of time to wonder. A whole swarm of aliens descended toward them, gleaming insectlike in the sun and clicking their pincers menacingly. Peter racked his brain for anything about them, but his knowledge was still unsettlingly blank.

“Here we go,” said Steve, and there was no more time to think.

They fought back to back, Peter webbing aliens out of the air and Steve taking others down with his shield, but the horde continued to close in until they were surrounded on the rooftop. Then the changing began. Thor, War Machine, the Winter Soldier, Black Widow, and many others surrounded them, still moving closer, complete hatred brewing in otherwise dead faces.

“It’s not them.” 

Peter wasn’t sure which one of them Steve was talking to, but he told himself the same. Nevertheless, he found himself webbing them almost considerately, careful not to actually hurt them while leaving them to struggle and eventually transform back with furious hisses.

Alien-Hawkeye made a grab for him, which Peter moved to swat harmlessly away, but as he did so the man’s hand transformed, and pincers snapped harshly around his arm. In the amount of time it took to blink, he found himself face to face with an alien again, staring at his own reflection in the venomous black eyes. The sharp jaw clicked softly, but before Peter could move to free himself, a second pair of pincers closed around his middle and he was yanked into the air with a startled cry.

Steve shouted something, but he was already out of reach, and Peter squirmed helplessly like a salmon in the claws of an eagle. Almost immediately, instinct kicked in and he stopped fighting and clung to the appendage that held him instead-heights were one thing, but heights with no control were quite another. His heart pounded sickly while he reached out to shoot a web at the nearest building, and it missed by inches.

“Help, somebody help!” Peter didn’t know who was around, or even if he had comms, but there had to be _someone_.

He tried again for the building: out of webs.

How could he be out of webs? Peter’s heart dropped to his toes, and he looked immediately back at the alien that had him, fighting a desperate desire to force himself free. He couldn’t- to get away would mean falling to his death- and all he could do was lean as far away as possible and hold on.

It was carrying him toward an alley, descending, thankfully, and the second they got near the ground Peter squirmed away and fell, running almost before his feet even hit the concrete. He didn’t look back to see if it was following him; whatever it meant to do by bringing him there, he wasn’t going to find out.

He needed more webs. He needed more webs, and he didn’t _have_ any more webs. He needed a plan then, some kind of weapon, preferably something long so he could-

Peter skidded to a halt.

A pack of aliens was rushing down the alley to meet him like a flood down a canyon, rattling in their exoskeleton armor. The one had dropped him here on purpose, Peter was sure, just to let him be caught by its comrades; what kind of sick game was this? He turned and ran- without webs, he’d have a much better chance against just one, especially considering how deceptively strong they were.

But the one alien wasn’t even there. It hadn’t even stayed around to watch him get overrun, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had a clear escape, and he was going to get out of this alley and find something to fight with and hopefully figure out what the heck was going on. He ran faster, glancing briefly over his shoulder to be sure the others had stopped gaining on him, when something tackled him to the ground.

Some _one_ tackled him to the ground. Peter could tell it was a person from the long hair that whipped his face, and the sharp-nailed hands that tore at his face, his hair, his clothes. He squirmed desperately underneath them as the wave of aliens clattered closer. Whoever it was- whoever the alien was pretending to be- _snarled_ , and even under that vicious sound, Peter detected a tone he recognized.

It was _May_. With her face a mask of evil and hate, but still May, clawing at him with her nails, attempting to strangle him, trying to _bite_ him-

_Not May, not May, not May_.

The aliens were almost on them- on _him_ \- and Peter had to hand it to them for keeping him from fighting back, but they were coming. They were coming, ready to grab him again in their horrible pincers or bite him with those teeth, or whatever they wanted to do. His strength was useless against them, and he didn’t have his webs, and he had to get away. He had to get away.

_It wasn’t really May._

Peter had to close his eyes. He rallied his pitiful strength to push her off himself, but he must have misjudged, because she went flying. He choked on his breath, but it was too late to change anything now. May- _no_ , the alien pretending to be May- sailed through the air, impossibly fast for the slow motion that Peter thought he saw, and slammed against a wall with a sickening thud. She slid to the ground and lay motionless.

Peter jumped to his feet, forgetting all about the aliens that were nearly upon him, until an arrow whistled from on high and exploded among the chattering crowd. He covered his head while the echo roared past, and then the alleyway went deathly quiet.

May- not May, the alien that looked like May- still lay in a crumpled heap against the wall. It wasn’t her, but Peter couldn’t look away from the sight, tiptoeing closer almost against his will.

She should have changed back by now. The other alien had changed right after it was killed, but May still lay there, unmoving against the wall. Peter crept to her side and touched her shoulder.

“May?” he rasped, even though it wasn’t, _it wasn’t_. He tried to turn her face toward him and recoiled at the unnatural angle.

She was going to turn back soon. She was going to turn into an alien that would come back to life and chase him, and he’d have to jump up and run. Any second now.

She didn’t change. Didn’t move.

“May?” Peter choked. He couldn’t leave her there on the ground, even though it wasn’t her, _it wasn’t her_ , and he carefully pulled her into his lap. She felt limp and heavy.

“Please?” he whispered, not sure what he was even asking for.

More aliens were coming, crowding around, but Peter couldn’t move. Real or not, he couldn’t lay May down on the filthy concrete again; he couldn’t leave her to them. They crowded around, rattling and clicking and growling, and he folded himself over May like he could still protect her, squeezing his eyes closed.

They grabbed his arms in their unforgiving claws and he shook his head silently, willing himself not to be pulled away, but they were too strong. A tiny sound of despair escaped him as he failed and was dragged back upright. One of them moved toward May, and Peter struggled furiously while even more pinned him in place.

“No don’t!” It was foolish to plead with them, but that didn’t matter- he didn’t _care_. “Don’t, don’t _touch_ her!”

He hardly noticed the tears that streamed down- of anger and despair and complete confusion while he tried and failed again to break free as they dragged her away. They were too many, and too strong.

“No!” Peter wailed, but he could barely even stretch out his fingers in her direction. “May! _May!_ ”

They pulled her out of sight among their ranks and retreated as quickly as they had come, leaving Peter to fall abruptly back to the ground. He caught his breath, a single desperate sound, and scrambled to his feet, but they had already vanished around some corner of the alley. He was left turning circles on unsteady legs, completely alone, like none of them had ever existed. It felt like he couldn’t get enough air.

“You killed her,” a voice whispered in his ear, so close it might have come from his own mind.

_Murderer_.

_You’re a killer, Spider-Man._

“You’re no better than a man with a gun.”

At that, Peter dropped into a crouch and curled in on himself with his hands over his ears. He couldn’t block it out. They were all around him, hissing accusations, and they were right. 

They were all right.

Something collided with Peter’s temple and set him sprawling on his side. He struggled to right himself, blinking through blurry vision and the loud _clang_ that resonated through his skull at the red and gold figure that loomed over him.

A blast splintered the brick beside his head, and he scuttled backward against the wall. Another narrowly missed his shoulder, sending him ducking out of the way in terror.

“Mr. Stark!” he cried out, because even now, even now, it was the first name on his lips, the person who might save him.

Tony, Iron Man, the alien pretending to be him- whatever he was- ignored his plea and advanced toward him, but Peter couldn’t fight back; he couldn’t risk it. He shrank against the wall, catching his breath when the harsh metal hand grasped him by the front of his clothes and pulled him close as if to study him. He felt minuscule under the suit’s emotionless gaze.

“Mr. Stark?” he asked again.

“I don’t know you.”

Tony let go, and Peter fell back, cracking his head hard against the brick wall. The suit whirred, charging up for the kill, and he wanted to cry for mercy but his voice had abandoned him.

He deserved this, he couldn’t expect anything else after what he’d done, but did it have to be Tony? Peter wanted to close his eyes and hide his face from the sight, but horror kept him frozen, watching. The last thing he saw was Tony’s hand, followed by a blur of light.  
...

Peter sat bolt upright with a cry. He was trapped, he couldn’t breathe, he was dying, he had died-

“Kid?”

Tony, suitless, was leaning over him, and Peter squeaked and tried to scramble away, his heart pounding fit to explode.

“Whoa, easy!” Tony caught his forearm gently. “You’re safe.”

Peter looked around. He was in the lab, on the couch- he must have fallen asleep there again- and it had all been a dream. The aliens, May, Tony: all a dream. He shivered a little in relief, but something was wrong. Something at the back of his mind told him there was more, something worse, something-

_Beck_.

Before Peter knew what he was doing, he had clambered into Tony’s arms, forcing the man to sit down heavily with him. Surely that was all a dream, too. It had to be, if Tony still wanted to be anywhere near him. Maybe he had only dreamed the part about Tony hating him while Beck had him- at any rate, some of it had to be a dream, and he clung on tight.

“You’re okay.” Tony cradled the back of his head and ran his fingers gently through his hair. “You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you again.”

Definitely not a dream, then. Peter burrowed into Tony’s shoulder. He would be safe there, away from Beck, away from... well, everything. Tony still liked him and he was keeping him safe, and Peter’s breathing hitched painfully.

“Just a dream.” Tony was holding him and he was _safe_ , but something was still so wrong. “We got you back, remember? Gave that asshole what he wanted, and you’re with me now.”

All Peter’s blood went cold, and he attempted to push himself away. “Wait, you gave-“

“Hey, it’s okay, we-“

“It’s not okay!”

Something was terribly wrong. _Everything_ was terribly wrong. The room was wrong and the air was wrong and Tony was wrong, and Peter squirmed desperately free with wild fear constricting his chest.

“Kid, it’s fine.” Tony let him go. “He can’t do anything, promise.”

“You gave him-“ Peter couldn’t take a breath. “You can’t-“

“Hey.” Tony took both of Peter’s hands in his. “He’s not gonna do anything, okay? Besides, you’re worth it.”

_Something was wrong, something was wrong, something was wrong_. Even the air smelled wrong.

“Okay?”

Tony looked so sure, and his eyes were so kind, and his hands were so warm. Peter nodded.

“We’re all good, see? You’re here and you’re safe, and you’re _worth_ it.”

Peter nodded again and tried to take a deep breath. Something was still wrong, but he pushed the thought down. He couldn’t expect to feel better immediately, but Tony was there, and he was _safe._

The window shattered.

In half a second, Tony was up off the couch, jumping in front of Peter to shield him from view as the drones flooded in. Peter wanted to tell him no- run, get away- but it was like his throat had sealed itself shut.

“You played right into my hand, Stark.” Beck’s voice echoed around the room. “I wasn’t sure you’d do it, to be honest, but here we are.”

Peter made himself as small as possible among the couch cushions. He knew he should do something, he shouldn’t cower like a scared child, but he welcomed Tony’s protection in spite of himself.

“I’d make some kind of speech now, but I’ve waited long enough as it is.” The drones whirred all around. “Nice work, boss.”

It was a storm of noise and light that seemed to last an eternity. When it was over, Tony fell without a sound.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter jumped to the floor beside him, where red was already starting to blossom up through his shirt.

There was so much red, and Peter’s hands hovered over it in dismay. He put his hand to Tony’s cheek instead, turning his scared, agonized face toward him. 

“Mr. Stark? Hey, it’s me.”

“I-“

“It’s okay.” Peter didn’t know how he managed to choke out the words. “Look, it’s me. You’ll be okay.”

  
“I shouldn’t-“ Tony’s throat rattled, and his eyes threatened to roll back.

“No no, hey!” Peter fumbled for his hand. “Look at me! You gotta-“

“I shouldn’t have...”

Tony’s hand went limp, and his labored breathing gave way to stifling quiet.

“No.” Peter shook him. “No, come on Mr. Stark, wake up!”

His eyes stared up like an accusation. He should never have given Beck what he wanted- Peter wasn’t worth it. That had been his last thought, and he was right.

“Please wake up,” he whimpered, broken.

Tony didn’t stir.

“I’m sorry!” Peter bowed his head close to Tony’s with a small sob. “I’m so sorry.”

The room dimmed around them. Something was happening, but he didn’t look up or open his eyes. He wasn’t sure he would ever move again.

“Hi there.”

Peter screamed, inches from Beck’s brightly smiling face as he held him, and lurched backward like he had been thrown. He was in the silo again- it hadn’t been a dream, Tony hadn’t saved him, and he’d fallen for it again, thinking something else could ever be real. His chest felt like it was caving in.

Even so, none of it had been real. Tony was safe. Tony wanted nothing to do with him, but he was safe and he was alive, and that was good. That was good.

The walls of the silo seemed to stretch up forever into the dark. Peter wondered if even they were real, but at the same time nothing had ever felt so finally, crushingly real.

Beck was rolling on the floor laughing, and before Peter could stop it, his hand shot out to strike the man.

“Ow!” Beck sat up, still wheezing and rubbing his shoulder. “Oh my god Parker, your face!” He broke into another fit of laughter.

“I _hate_ you.” Peter huddled away from him.

“I know.” Beck chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “Poor kid. I shouldn’t have done that, but I just couldn’t resist.”

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny.” Beck glanced sideways at him. “Okay, you’re right. It’s not funny.” He arranged his face into a serious expression that completely mismatched his relaxed posture. “You know, I’m starting to think Tony was right a minute ago.”

Peter gazed miserably at the floor.

“It’s going to take a lot more before he’ll give me what I want, and frankly, I’m not sure he’s coming for you at all.”

“He is.” Arguing was a force of habit now. The words felt hollow.

“Whatever makes you happy,” said Beck. “Personally, I’m about ready to scrap this idea and start over. What do you think?”

Peter’s blood ran cold, and he looked up. Beck smiled.

~

“Gotcha.”

Tony hit _enter_ and waited, trying to remember how to breathe. It would work. It had to work. 

After hours- _days_ \- of painful trial and error, he had something. He was going to find everything Beck had to hide, every scrap of data in the whole wretched system, and then they would be somewhere. Maybe he could even get in.

The screen fuzzed out, and then he had it, he _had_ it, and he sprang into action like never before. His hands shook, checking and double-checking every control he had put in- it had to work. It was working, and then he could see, through the lens of one of the drones, he could _see_.

Peter sat huddled on the floor of the godforsaken room, his head bowed, and Tony didn’t think. He jumped for the sound.

“Peter!”

Peter’s head snapped toward the sound, and Tony nearly wept at the pure hope in his face. That only lasted half a moment, immediately being washed away with pain and dread. He thought it was another illusion, and Tony felt like screaming.

“Peter! I’m-“

The system recognized him and shut down, and Peter was gone, once again completely out of reach.

Not completely. Tony checked, just to be sure, and the data was there. There would be something, some rough location, some plans or communication, _something_ that would lead him to Peter.

For one split second, the kid had believed he might be coming. Tony would make sure that was true, and once he had gotten Peter and seen him safe, he would find Beck, and then there would be hell to pay.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments give me life, you have no idea how much it means just to hear from you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this update finds you all safe and healthy and hopeful. These are scary times, friends, and on a very serious, non-fandom-related note, I just wanted to say I love all of you, and I’m proud of you for whatever you’re doing to help yourselves be okay.
> 
> Now on with the story, Because stories are nice. (This one is actually not so nice, but you get my point.)

  
Peter didn’t even try to fight when Beck put him in the chair again. There was no point. No point at all.

They’d get him there eventually; they’d do something awful to him, make him see something awful, and leave him to calm himself down while they messaged Tony or laughed maniacally or whatever it was they did in the other room. Peter sat quietly and let Beck fasten the restraints around his arms.

At least he wasn’t in the fish tank again.

“Peter Peter Peter.” Beck stepped back, shaking his head. “All this time, I’ve been trying to give you a way out, but you wouldn’t let me. You were too stubborn, too _good_ , and look where it got you.”

Peter almost rolled his eyes at the now-familiar lecture.

“I had another plan, of course,” Beck continued. “I hoped you’d listen to me, but I was afraid you’d be this way, and that’s why I sent those messages to Tony. But now here we are.” He spread his hands. “Nothing.”

“He’s coming to get me.” It was a force of habit now, just to disagree.

“That’s fine,” said Beck. “That’s perfect, actually. I’m starting over, completely new plan, and maybe then he can be persuaded.”

The pit of fear that had taken up permanent residence in Peter’s stomach since the beginning of this nightmare instantly doubled in size.

“This part of the project is over.” Beck looked him dead in the eye. “I don’t need you anymore.”

It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, along with all the warmth there had ever been. Peter choked. No matter how he wanted to, he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Beck’s, searching for something, anything that might spare him or show this was just another trick, any shred of hope. Beck stared back, almost like a challenge, daring him to speak and ask if it was true.

He couldn’t speak. Instead, his traitorous eyes started to water.

“You’re a good kid, Peter.” Beck’s face softened, and he somehow managed to look actually _sad_. “Too good, sometimes, but it’s been a pleasure. I think I’m going to miss you.”

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion. Peter’s mind felt like it had slowed down, too, spinning at a snail’s pace along with the room around him while he forgot to breathe in the oppressive air. Everything had slowed down except for Peter himself: he was falling, hurtling through time with each beat of his heart propelling him faster, eating up the seconds at an alarming rate. There was no way to stop, and he shuddered.

“You don’t have anything to say?”

Peter took a breath, startled from the swirl of his mind. Beck was still there, and that seemed wrong somehow. He didn’t belong there.

“I was going to let you record one last greeting for Stark. Just in case there’s anything you’d like to get off your chest.”

What on earth would he possibly say? Peter struggled to drag his thoughts back into focus, but it was like grabbing for mist in a windstorm. 

He could tell Tony not to feel bad- that was the right thing, but he didn’t think he could force the words out. He might end up begging, even though it would be too late then, or he might accuse Tony, even though that was wrong. Surely he’d tried. Surely he’d wanted to save him, even a little bit. Peter hoped so.

His heart pounded so hard in his throat that he doubted he could speak at all.

“Would you like that?” said Beck, once again barging into thoughts where he had no right to be.

“No.” The word hurt something deep inside Peter’s chest, but it was better this way. Better to go quietly than to say something he never intended.

Beck shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Peter wasn’t sure how his heart hadn’t completely given out by now. In a way, it would almost be a mercy if it did.

“Unless you have anything else you’d like to say, I think we’re done here.”

“Wait!” Peter cried out, raw terror finally giving him a voice. The one syllable was enough to completely drain him of breath, and his chest heaved rapidly trying to regain it.

“Yes?” said Beck.

“Can I-“ Peter wheezed pathetically. “Can I call my aunt?”

Beck stared at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re serious.”

“Please! I won’t tell her where we are- I don’t _know_ where we are, I just wanna say... um, I wanna-“ His voice choked off in a strange little sob.

“Sorry, can’t do that.”

“Wait!” Peter lunged against the chair again. “Can I say something, at least? You said-“

“That was for Tony. You’re aunt’s not part of the plan, and you should be glad of that.” Beck’s tone was final. “I think we’re done here.”

Peter’s face crumpled, and he ducked his head. He wasn’t crying, he was _breaking_. He couldn’t breathe, and every part of him was cracking in pieces. Someone had taken a knife and carved out his chest, and he was collapsing around it, falling apart.

“Poor kid.” Beck’s voice was gentle again, deceptively soothing. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

Peter shook his head.

“I don’t have the cannons I want yet, obviously, but my team and I threw together some smaller, temporary guns for the drones. They’re not ideal, but they’ll work for this.”

Peter was holding his breath, fighting the need to howl with the pain inside him. His skin crawled with cold.

“It shouldn’t hurt.”

“Wait! Wait, don’t- please!” He didn’t want to beg, he didn’t want those to be his last words, but they burst out anyway like blood from a wound. “Please don’t!”

“Sorry, kid.”

With that, Beck walked past him, disappearing in the darkness behind him. Peter heard a door open and close, and he was alone. Stupidly, he strained to twist around, his throat aching with shallow, sobbing breaths, but Beck was really gone. It was just him in the room.

A single drone hovered toward him, slowly, almost lazily. It was strange; something that big had no business floating in the air so quietly, but there it was. Watching him.

Peter stared back at it. His breathing sped up, impossibly fast, and faster, like he was trying to fit as many breaths as he could into the seconds he had left. He wondered which would be his last, and something in him wanted to cry out for help, but there was no one. Even if there had been, he was too transfixed by the deadly machine to make a sound.

A green laser turned on, pointing directly at his forehead, and then he couldn’t breathe at all anymore. He dragged desperately at the air in his constricted throat, air that would do him no good, while tears stung behind his widened eyes. They didn’t fall- they would never fall. This was it- this was really it and he wasn’t ready to die, and he wanted to scream but he couldn’t even breathe.

The drone whirred, and Peter’s face scrunched up all on its own as he braced himself.

A loud noise made him gasp and almost cry out, but it wasn’t the drone. Instead, the unmistakable whine of a repulsor sounded, and the door flew off its hinges.

Iron Man made a bulky silhouette against the evening light. He raised his hand again, and the drone exploded and crashed in ruin against the back wall. He clattered to the floor in pieces.

Peter hadn’t moved. He couldn’t take his eyes off the figure in the doorway while he took in great, shuddering gasps of air. ( _He could still breathe, he could still breathe and he wasn’t dead_.) His hands shook.

“Peter!” Tony’s helmet disappeared, and he ran across the floor, footsteps loud on the concrete, to stop in front of him. His eyes were wider than Peter had ever seen them.

He looked real. He looked just like Tony should look, and Peter drank in the sight, but he held his breath. Like Tony was a figment of his imagination that might disappear like dust in a sunbeam.

“Kid.” Tony’s metal-gloved hand cradled his cheek, and he had to close his eyes as they filled with tears again. His chest felt like it was breaking apart.

“I’m taking you home now,” Tony said gently, and Peter couldn’t find any voice for a response. “Kid, I’m so sorry.”

Peter opened his eyes again, just a slit, just enough to see Tony again. Tony, and the swarm of drones heading for them.

Peter’s eyes flew wide. It was just like before, just like the illusion, only now it was real- it _might_ be real- but he couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t-

“What’s wro-“

Tony turned to look, still unmasked, too late. 

“No!” Peter found his voice, too late.

The drones slammed against Tony with a terrible crash, and he was thrown aside like a tin doll, into the shadows of the room. Peter heard him cry out.

“No!” Peter strained toward him, but it was no use. Something buzzed electrically behind him, pain raced up the back of his neck, and darkness fell.

It felt like only a second later, but there was no telling how long it had been, when Peter came to. He was still in the chair, but across from him...

“Mr. Stark?” 

That was what he tried to say, anyway, but the gag in his mouth turned it into a garbled mumble.

“It’s okay.” Tony was there, stripped of his armor and bound to a chair in front of him, just like Beck had been when Victoria was asking. That felt like another lifetime.

“Is it okay?” Beck appeared behind him with a gleeful smile, and Peter watched all the color drain from Tony’s face.

He looked too small, stuck in a chair like he was, and Peter fought his own restraints, growling at Beck around the gag.

“I’m not going to hurt him.” The evil man trailed a hand over Tony’s shoulder while he crept to stand beside him. “I’m actually thrilled that he’s here. Perfect timing.” 

“You’re sick,” Tony snapped, shaking his shoulder free.

“Just practical. Like you.” Beck glanced at Peter, then back down at Tony. “You never did like to keep useless things around.”

“Not sure about that. I did keep _you_.”

Beck snorted. “I’m hurt, but we’re not here to talk about me. This boy, this _kid_ , you called him, has been terrified. You should have seen him: he thought you hated him. He thought you didn’t care for him, he wasn’t even sure you’d want to save him.”

Peter’s heart felt heavy, and he didn’t dare meet Tony’s eyes.

“You have a chance to prove him wrong now,” said Beck. “Give me the codes, and he lives.”

The words hung in the silence of the room. Peter trembled, waiting for the answer that would decide _everything_ , and he looked to Tony.

“Peter...” 

There was something in the man’s face that Peter had never seen before. He held his breath.

“This isn’t fair.” Tony looked up at Beck. “He’s just a kid.”

“That’s my deal,” said Beck. “I’ll get those codes out of you one way or another, but you get to decide if he survives it.”

Another silence crept over the room. There was an irresistibility about that silence that Peter didn’t understand. Didn’t think he wanted to understand.

“You won’t get them,” said Tony quietly.

“Are you sure?” said Beck. “You have no idea what I-“

“I’m sure.”

Judging by the set of his jaw, Peter thought he was probably right. If there was as much at stake as he thought there was, Tony would never let those codes go. Not ever.

“So... Peter?” said Beck.

Peter’s chest seized up. He didn’t want to look, but he found himself staring desperately into Tony’s eyes. Tony had nice eyes, he decided.

“Kid?”

Peter couldn’t speak, but he doubted the gag had much to do with it anymore.

“Look.” Tony shook his head. “No, listen, kid I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, for everything Pete, but I can’t...” He took a shaky breath and looked Peter in the face once more. “I can’t.”

Peter knew. He had known. Long before Beck even finished making his speech, he had known what it would be. Tony couldn’t give up something so dangerous to Beck just for him. 

He nodded- he understood- but the tearing ache inside his chest begged to differ.

“I’m sorry.” Tony really did look sorry, but that just made it hurt worse.

“You’re sure?” said Beck.

“Yes.” Tony wasn’t looking at Peter anymore. “Make it quick.”

He might as well have punched him in the chest, with his armor still on. Peter wanted to cry. He wanted to beg and plead for Tony to save him, but he wouldn’t. Tony wouldn’t choose him.

There wasn’t anything else to say. Not that Peter was allowed to say anything at all, apparently. He took a last look at Tony, who was still watching the floor. 

That was okay; Tony wouldn’t want to see. Peter couldn’t blame him for that.

He closed his eyes.

He’d been through this before, how many times? Too many, but at least he knew how to prepare himself now _. Keep breathing, in and out, as slow as you can. Pretend you don’t feel it shaking. Just keep breathing until you can’t anymore._

He wondered if it was for real this time.

Nothing happened. Peter squeezed his eyes shut tighter in anticipation, but there was no sound. No bullet, no knife, no pain. Warily, he cracked his eyes open again. Tony was still there, still staring at the floor. Beck stood beside him, still looking directly at Peter, and he smiled. It was the kind of smile that made him want to run away.

“Watch this.”

Beck snapped his fingers, and Tony dissolved like he was made of sand. Like he was made of ash, which floated away and disappeared into blue pixels. The chair disappeared, too, and the ropes, until it was just Beck again in the empty room.

_It wasn’t real._

Of course it wasn’t real, it was never real. Peter honestly didn’t know why he had believed it in the first place.

 _Because you wanted it to be real_ , a little voice whispered. He didn’t even know when he had started to cry, but there were tears running down his face and he didn’t care. He didn’t care anymore, it wasn’t like it mattered, and he let them fall.

Beck came behind him and loosened the gag. It didn’t matter.

“Why would you _do_ that?” Peter demanded the moment he could speak. He trembled a little at the fury behind his own words. “Why would you _fucking_ do that?”

“Why am I doing any of this?” said Beck calmly.

“It’s not _working_!” Peter snarled. “Can’t you see that? It’s not working, and he’s not going to give you what you want, and he’s not coming!”

“Not coming?”

“He’s _not_!” Peter’s voice hitched, but he rushed on. “You failed.” A wild sound burst out of him, some combination of a deranged chuckle and a sob. “Do you get it? You won’t get him to do anything like this! He doesn’t care.”

“Did you hear that, Tony?” said Beck to whatever camera was nearby. “Is this your legacy?”

“Stop it!” Peter shrieked. “Just stop it! He doesn’t _care_!”

“What would you have me do instead?”

“I don’t _know_!” Peter knew. He knew what the only other option was, but he didn’t care. “Just stop, leave me alone! Leave me alone, _please_!”

Beck walked over to him, seeming to grow taller with each step. He grasped Peter’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes.

“I‘ve been lying to you.” His fingers dug painfully into Peter’s jaw when he tried to turn away. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to keep you right here until he gives me what I want, if he ever does.”

The intensity in his eyes made Peter want to shrink away, but he couldn’t. He felt frozen.

“Even if I never get anything out of Stark, I’ll have you, Peter. I could put you to work- you’re a brilliant kid and I know I could persuade you- or I might hold on to you just because. Think of it as a consolation prize.” Beck squeezed his chin harder. “Either way, you’re going to be here for a long, long time.”

Tony didn’t care. Tony wouldn’t save him, but some instinct had Peter looking around for the camera anyway.

“Mr. Stark-“

“Shh.” Beck covered his mouth. “Mr. Stark isn’t coming.”

~

Tony was coming.

He was so close he could almost taste it. That was a bad analogy. There was nothing about this situation that he wanted to taste, except perhaps for an accidental splatter of Beck’s blood when he-

_Okay, calm down._

There was nothing about this situation to be calm about, either.

Tony glared at the reader. As soon as this was all over and Peter was safe and Beck was, well, _not_ , he was going to build another one, ten times faster. He rubbed his armored hands together and thought about checking again to be sure Rhodey was set. Probably better not to at this point. Tony glared at the reader again.

Of course Beck hadn’t put coordinates in his system. Tony wasn’t sure how he’d expected him to be _that_ stupid, but that was beside the point. There were clues, though, places to be eliminated until they found something, _dear God please_ _something_ , that would lead them to Peter. 

If only the stupid thing would hurry up and finish. Tony was going to build one a _hundred_ times faster, and no he didn’t care that was supposedly impossible.

So absorbed was he in watching the clock, in pacing back and forth and drumming his fingers clankily on his thighs, that he almost missed the notification.

Almost.

All the strength went out of his legs in an instant, and he stumbled against the desk. Part of him wanted to dismiss it, because he was so close. Just a few more minutes, and he might be _on his_ _way_. On his way to rescue Peter from this horror, soon, so soon, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about whatever Beck was doing ever again.

Tony tried to start pacing again, but the message anchored tiny claws in his heart and pulled him back almost like it was alive.

He had to know.

He had to know what was going on, or at least what _had_ been going on. He couldn’t stand wondering, and his mind conjured up hundreds of terrible scenarios of what it might be.

He owed it to Peter, too, to at least know. And if this was going to work, if this was really the day he would find him (a hope he barely dared to even consider yet) he had to be prepared.

He had to know.  
  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s gonna see it. Tony’s gonna have to live with it. *cackling*
> 
> As you’ve probably guessed, we’re nearing the end of this story. I have two more chapters planned, and then that’ll be it. (Unless word counts and such demand a third, we’ll see.)
> 
> Until then, happy Sunday, and best wishes from me!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, here we are at the 2nd-to-last chapter. It’s been a journey, but it’s not over yet. More angst headed your way!
> 
> Also this chapter is entirely Tony’s POV, so brace yourselves for the angstiest of angst.

  
He had to know.

Tony opened the message, keeping an eye on the stupid reader just to be sure. He’d probably have time. Not that he wanted time, but there it was.

Peter was handcuffed (well, not exactly handcuffed, but restrained by his wrists) in the metal chair, and he looked... bad. Tony recognized that look. It was the way he had felt many times in Afghanistan. In between all the planning and the building and the scheming, when he remembered where he was. When he wasn’t sure it was going to work. When he just wondered when and how they were going to kill him.

That was how Peter looked now, fastened to the chair, staring hollowly at the wall like he was asleep sitting up. Tony thought he’d honestly rather see him scared again than... this. Fear meant you wanted to survive. Fear meant you were thinking about getting away. This... Tony felt like they were both going to melt into a puddle of hopelessness on the floor.

He checked the clock again and growled.

“I had another plan, of course,” Beck was saying. “I hoped you’d listen to me, but I was afraid you’d be this way, and that’s why I sent those messages to Tony. But now here we are.” He spread his hands. “Nothing.”

“He’s coming to get me,” said Peter, too quickly. His voice held no emotion.

That’s fine,” said Beck. “That’s perfect, actually. I’m starting over, completely new plan, and maybe then he can be persuaded.” 

Fear flickered behind Peter’s eyes to match Tony’s own, and he decided that was in fact NOT an improvement from the detached staring of a minute before. Not at all.

“This part of the project is over,” said Beck. “I don’t need you anymore.”

He couldn’t mean... Tony tightened his hand around the nearest object, an empty stapler, ignoring how it groaned under the strength of his suit.

Peter looked like he’d been frozen. His eyes were huge in his pale face, and his chest rose and fell so rapidly and shallowly that Tony could barely tell he was breathing at all. Tony himself definitely wasn’t.

“You’re a good kid, Peter,” said Beck, his voice a mockery of gentleness. “Too good, sometimes, but it’s been a pleasure. I’m going to miss you.”

He couldn’t. Tony shook his head. There was no way. Beck didn’t have the guts- threats and tricks were his favorite game. This had to be another one.

But it was horrifying, watching Peter quietly panic after being informed so matter-of-factly that his life was almost at an end. Which it wasn’t. Not really. Tony nearly broke the stapler in his hand.

“You don’t have anything to say?” Beck asked, undoubtedly trying to taunt him for his shocked silence. When Peter didn’t answer, only looked up with a vaguely confused expression, he went on. “I was going to let you record one last greeting for Stark. Just in case there’s anything you’d like to get off your chest.”

Peter said not a word, but Tony could practically see the thoughts swirling in his head. They weren’t the kind of thoughts that could be compressed into words, he could almost guarantee.

“Would you like that?’ Beck pressed, almost like the silence was making him uncomfortable.

“No.” Peter’s voice was hollow, but final.

“Suit yourself,” said Beck. “Unless you have anything else you’d like to say, I think we’re done here.”

“Wait!” Peter cried out, and oh God he was scared. Tony watched him struggle to catch his breath while pleading to talk to May, and absolutely crumble when Beck denied him.

“Poor kid.” Beck’s voice was a disgusting imitation of sympathy. “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

Peter shook his head.

“I don’t have the cannons I want yet, obviously, but my team and I threw together some smaller, temporary guns for the drones. They’re not ideal, but they’ll work for this.”

_Not really_ , Tony told himself frantically. _He’s not really going to do anything._

“It shouldn’t hurt.”

As if Tony needed any more reasons to murder Beck, something about that line revolted him down to his core.

“Wait!” Peter cried out again. “Wait don’t, please! Please don’t!”

He was _begging_ , not that Tony blamed him in the slightest, but he was terrified and all alone, pleading with the person who had literally tortured him for days just to spare his life.

Which he would. He wasn’t going to kill Peter. That just wasn’t an option.

“Sorry, kid.” Beck left the room, and Peter was truly alone.

Tony watched him try to twist around, almost like he wanted his tormentor to stay.

“It’s not real, kid,” he found himself murmuring, praying it was true. “They’re not gonna touch you.”

A single drone hovered in front of Peter, and he stopped moving entirely except for his terrified breathing. Tony wanted to look away from the sight of his eyes. They were too wide, too shiny, too pleading, and the stapler shattered in his armored hand.

The drone trained a targeting light on Peter (on _Peter_ , on his kid) and Tony flinched from the screen. It wasn’t hurting him, it was only a light, but it might as well have been the most destructive laser in the world, a deadly green light that seemed to bore into the kid’s forehead. Tony had to fight the need to vomit.

_Please no, please no, please no_. 

The thing whirred, Peter shut his eyes, and a scream built up in Tony’s throat.

The door crashed open, and he watched himself shoot the drone out of the air. Despite everything, he let out a shaky breath of relief. Whatever was about to happen, Peter was alive. It hadn’t been real.

It still wasn’t real as illusion-Tony ran to Peter or as the kid sat transfixed with some kind of painful disbelief. The illusion cradled Peter’s cheek in its hand, and Tony would have given anything to be there instead, but he held his breath. Peter closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, holding back tears.

“I’m taking you home now,” said the illusion. “Kid, I’m so sorry.”

Peter startled at something, and neither Tony nor the illusion of him were prepared for the drones that swept in, throwing it to the side.

“No!” Peter screamed out, and the anguish in his voice wrenched Tony’s heart. He strained to get out of the chair, and the room went dark.

The video had been cut. Tony wondered how much time had passed.

Speaking of time, he checked his own and scowled. Too much time.

Still playing, the video brightened again. illusion-Tony was still there, now tied to a chair in front of Peter’s, his armor gone. It was an all too familiar scenario but it was even worse because Peter was the one actually living it, and Tony wasn’t even there. Only his illusion was, and that would only make it worse.

Peter stirred and opened his eyes, mumbling something with the right amount of syllables to be “Mr. Stark?” around the gag Beck had put on him. Tony fumed.

“It’s okay,” said illusion-Tony, and that was a lie. Tony had quickly begun to regard his illusion self as an entity of its own, an evil one, and whatever it had in store for Peter, its intentions were not okay.

“Is it okay?” Beck echoed Tony’s thoughts, appearing behind the chair.

Illusion-Tony’s face paled, and Peter leaned protectively toward him.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” said Beck. “I’m actually thrilled that he’s here. Perfect timing.”

“You’re sick,” said illusion-Tony with feeling he couldn’t possibly mean.

“Just practical. Like you.” Beck looked momentarily at Peter again. “You never did like to keep useless things around.”

“Not sure about that. I did keep _you_.”

At least his illusion self agreed with him on some points, even if it was all a lie. Tony wished Beck hadn’t made him so convincing.

“I’m hurt, but we’re not here to talk about me,” said Beck. “This boy, this _kid_ , you called him, has been terrified. You should have seen him: he thought you hated him. He thought you didn’t care for him, he wasn’t even sure you’d want to save him.” He smiled. “You have a chance to prove him wrong now. Give me the codes, and he lives.”

“Oh no.” Tony looked at the clock again, but he still had time. Entirely too much time. “Oh no. Kid...”

The illusion protested, but Beck held firm, promising to get the codes one way or another. It was only up to “Tony” whether Peter would survive it, and he knew. He knew exactly what was going on, and he could only watch himself refuse the demand.

Peter sat frozen. His eyes were wide, looking to Tony just like he had looked at the drone about to kill him earlier.

“Kid?” said the illusion, with a face full of illusionary regret. “Look. No, listen, kid I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, for everything, Pete, but I can’t...” He took a deep breath, as if illusions needed to compose themselves before telling very real children they were giving them up to die. “I can’t.”

There was no shock in Peter’s face. He didn’t even cry. That was the worst part, absolutely the worst thing Tony had ever _seen_. His mouth dropped open, but he had nothing to say as the kid actually _nodded_ in acceptance. 

Peter wasn’t surprised. Not in the slightest. He wasn’t surprised Tony would give him up to die. Tony thought a sword being stabbed straight through him and then twisted around might be more bearable.

“You’re sure?” Even Beck, who was _acting_ , looked more surprised than Peter.

“Yes.” Illusion-Tony wouldn’t even look Peter in the eye. “Make it quick.”

Peter looked at him- even after all of it he still _wanted_ him, Tony could tell- and closed his eyes.

How many times had he been made to believe he was about to die? Tony didn’t want to count. Watching Peter sit stiffly upright, wrestling his breathing into some semblance of control, he could only tell it was a lot.

Beck stood watching, amused, until Peter cautiously opened one eye, then the other, and blinked in confusion at finding himself alive.

“Watch this.”

The evil man snapped his fingers, and illusion-Tony dissolved into dust, disappearing along with the chair and the ropes that held him.

Peter watched without a sound. He continued to stare at the place where the illusion had been while tears began to run quietly down his face. Tony wasn’t sure if he even noticed them.

Beck removed the gag, and the spell broke. Peter rounded on him.

“Why would you _do_ that?” He demanded, in a voice that was trembling but still full of anger. “Why would you _fucking_ do that?”

“Why am I doing any of this?” Beck was perfectly calm now, but- Tony glanced at the clock again- he wouldn’t be for long.

“It’s not _working_!” said Peter bitterly. “Can’t you see that? It’s not working, and he’s not going to give you what you want, and he’s not coming!”

Tony caught his breath like he’d been hit.

“Not coming?” said Beck, the picture of feigned innocence.

“He’s _not_!” Peter nearly choked on the words. “You failed.” He might have been trying to force a hysterical laugh, but it came out as more of a sob. “Do you get it? You won’t get him to do anything like this! He doesn’t care.”

_He’s not coming_. Tony felt like he’d been punched in the chest. _He doesn’t care_.

“Did you hear that, Tony?” Beck mocked him. “Is this your legacy?”

_He doesn’t care_. This was his doing. He hadn’t cared enough to stop this from happening, and now, and _now_... Tony’s hands shook.

“Leave me alone, _please_!” Peter was crying, and Tony snapped back to life in fear of what might be happening to him now.

Nothing was, but Beck grasped his chin roughly and forced him to look up.

“I’ve been lying to you. I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to keep you right here until he gives me what I want, if he ever does.”

Peter tried to shrink away, but Beck held him fast.

“Even if I never get anything out of Stark, I’ll have you, Peter. I could put you to work- you’re a brilliant kid and I know I could persuade you- or I might hold on to you just because. Think of it as a consolation prize.” Beck smiled. “Either way, you’re going to be here for a long, long time.”

The fear in Peter’s eyes was like that of a trapped animal as his gaze darted around the room, in search of _something._

“Mr. Stark-“

Beck covered his mouth with his hand. “Mr. Stark isn’t coming.”

The screen went black.

_He doesn’t care._

_He’s not coming_.

It felt like being stabbed again and again and again. There was a knife in his stomach, shards of glass in his heart, strands of barbed wire prying apart his ribs.

_He’s not coming_.

Tony bowed his head as a strange sound wrenched out of his chest. He hugged the broken stapler- he’d forgotten it was even in his hand- cradled it to him almost like it was Peter himself.

“I’m coming,” he repeated, over and over while he rocked back and forth in the chair. “I’m coming, I swear I’m coming.”

_He doesn’t care_.

The barbed wired pulled harder, and Tony’s voice deserted him. He pressed his lips tightly together and shut his eyes against a well of tears. There weren’t words. He had no words.

“I do care” was cheap. It was nothing to what Tony wanted to say, what he didn’t have words to express. He curled in around his aching heart and shook silently.

...

Any idea of time had been swept away, but he was jolted out of his dark refuge by FRIDAY’s voice telling him scans were complete. He sat bolt upright with a gasp, which felt like the first real breath he’d taken in ages. After activating his helmet, the sight was almost enough to make him weep: coordinates, imprecise, but real.

“Rhodes!” Tony yelped, undoubtedly hurting his friend’s ears if he was listening. “We got it!”

Not waiting for Rhodey’s response, he crashed through the window.

...

  
The area was heavily forested, probably beautiful in the summer, but in the winter it looked more like a graveyard. The trees stretched skeletal arms toward the sky, like long-drowned souls still crying out for help.

What gruesome imagery. Tony wished his mind would turn it off.

They flew high, scanning the forest below for anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary-

“They took him all the way out here?” said Rhodey.

“They would.”

“I thought they had him in some kind of warehouse.”

That was a good point; Tony had never seen a warehouse in the middle of the woods before, and his heart clenched. If this didn’t work... If this didn’t work, he didn’t know what he’d do.

The silo rose out of the forest without warning, like a scar in the otherwise unbroken trees. It was ancient, darkened with years of rain and cracking in places, and Tony wondered what it had ever been used for. Or how anyone had known about it in the first place.

“FRI, check for life forms.” His voice trembled along with everything inside him.

“Six heat signatures detected.”

All the breath was sucked from Tony’s lungs in an instant. It couldn’t be. He stared at the silo. It had to be.

“Tones?” said Rhodey.

“I think we got it.” His voice still sounded like he was being strangled.

“Five of them?”

“He has friends. I could probably guess who they are, but I’d rather not.” Tony couldn’t take his eyes off the silo. Peter was in there. He had to be. “How’s our backup looking?”

“Following your signal,” said Happy. By the sound, the road must be terrible. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Fairly positive. It’s an old silo, just keep following. Hang back until I say.”

“Until _I_ say,” said Rhodey.

“Fine.”

As much as Tony would have liked to go crashing straight through the wall, that would be ill-advised. Instead, he landed as quietly as possible among the trees at the edge of the clearing. Rhodey touched down beside him.

“You’ve seen what it looks like in there. We can’t exactly sneak in.”

“I was thinking we just pull the door off.”

“I think we’re on the same page, for once.” Tony looked at the concrete walls again. “The last-“ he cleared his throat- “the last I saw, he was in the chair in the middle.”

“Let’s hope Beck’s waiting at the door for us.”

“Wherever he is, he’s mine.”

Rhodey gave him a look, but Tony ignored him and crept out from hiding. They weren’t exactly inconspicuous, two men in gleaming metal suits in a deserted portion of the woods, but he felt the need to move stealthily anyway. Rhodey followed.

All was quiet as they reached the metal door. It was quite an ordinary door, handle and everything. They couldn’t technically make eye contact in their suits, but they looked at one another. Tony nodded.

Rhodey yanked the door off its hinges, and Tony charged through, repulsors already fired up. He didn’t hesitate to send one unfortunate man crashing against the wall. Probably not dead yet, he hoped. There were screams, two people fled for the back of the room, Tony raised his hand ready to fire again and heard Rhodey’s suit beside him-

“Stop!”

He knew that voice. The voice that already haunted his nightmares with the deepest dread he had ever known. Tony stayed his hand, whipping around to face the man he so despised. The man standing behind the chair in the center of the room. The man holding a gun to his kid’s head.

“No!” The strangled cry burst out before Tony could stop it, but he couldn’t move. He didn’t dare move: a man in armor held in place by a single gun.

Peter was there. After all this time, Peter was right there in front of him, almost within reach, but Tony couldn’t get to him.

“Give me the codes.”

Tony could only look at Peter. His eyes were wide and teary, his face thin and pale, but it was him. It was him and he was alive, and Tony had to get to him. Had to, had to, had to.

“Do you hear me?” Beck demanded. “Give me the codes!”

Peter hardly looked at Tony. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead, but he looked so scared. Tony had to get to him.

“Hey man, you already brought us here,” said Rhodey. “Just take the gun away from the kid. He has nothing to do with this.”

_Peter, Peter, Peter._

“I don’t think so,” said Beck.

The sound ripped through the silo. Peter slumped forward, limp against the restraints.

The sound that tore from Tony’s throat was somewhere between a roar and a primal scream, as he threw himself toward Beck, fully intending to tear him to pieces right there. His furious arms passed right through the man, and he crashed fully to the floor in his surprise.

On the other side of the room, Beck was laughing. Holding a gun to a terrified Peter’s head.

Of course it was an illusion. He’d been a fool, an absolute fool, not to expect one.

“Show me anything in the air,” he whispered to FRIDAY.

There were drones. Many of them, and Tony sent them crashing. Each had had a role in tormenting Peter. Each one of them would pay. The illusion faltered and grew holes, but every time Beck appeared, Tony blasted him in the face. Just in case that one was real. Just in case the gun was real. He had to be faster.

“I got the controls!” Rhodey shouted. 

There was a small explosion, and the illusion crashed, just as Tony’s repulsor sent someone very real flying. He was on them in a second, grabbing them with no regard for their pained groan, and pinning them to the ground.

It was Beck. Tony could see the terror in his eyes, and it was the most horribly satisfying sight in the world. He watched the man squirm, feeling his ribs creak under his armored knee.

“I thought you’d bring your drones, Stark,” Beck spat at him, but Tony could still practically smell his fear under the thin layer of contempt.

“Changed my mind.” Tony leaned down harder and felt a bone crack, heard Beck cry out like a wounded animal. He wanted to smash his skull, but that would be too quick. Instead, he leaned closer, putting pressure on the broken rib with a growl that even he was almost frightened of. “Everything you did to him, I’m going to do to you, but it’s going to be _real_.”

A sound caught Tony’s attention. It was tiny and barely audible, but it clenched his heart like nothing ever had. All his instincts tugged him away, away from vengeance, at least for now, and toward something far more important.

Before he went, he struck Beck across the face, leaving two bleeding gashes in his forehead and cheek. That was for the first time he’d slapped Peter. Almost.

“I’m not finished with you.” Tony stepped out of his suit, leaving it to fasten clamps around Beck’s wrists and ankles to pin him to the floor. He lingered just long enough to take in the absolute fear in the man’s face (being captured and chained by someone who wished you ill _did_ tend to do that to a person) and then he ran.

He ran. Across the room, to the chair, to Peter, the real Peter, who still sat quietly where he was. He looked so small.

“Peter!”

Tony skidded to a halt. Peter wasn’t looking at him. He had his eyes trained straight forward, scared and full of tears that didn’t fall.

“Kid?” Tony reached out a shaking hand- he didn’t want to be like his illusion self, but he couldn’t help it- and cradled Peter’s cheek.

He didn’t respond.

“Hey, it’s me.” Tony fumbled for a way to unlock the restraints. “I’m here now, I came.”

Finally Peter looked at him, and the complete, undiluted pain in his face almost sent Tony to his knees. He didn’t have words, there weren’t any words he could ever say-

“Peter I love you.”

Those were words. They sprang out of him so unexpectedly that Tony wondered for a moment if they were even his, but they were true. They were _right_.

Peter inhaled sharply. His bottom lip quivered, and he gazed into Tony’s eyes with such longing, such despair, that Tony had no idea how he wasn’t wailing.

Then he looked away, his entire frame trembling with barely-controlled emotion.

“This isn’t real.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With every other chapter, I’ve had a lot of fun cackling over the pain I’m causing you guys and thinking through different illusions and how they might be pulled off, but this one made me legitimately sad while writing it.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed anyway!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, here we are at the end of all things. That’s very dramatic. Anyway, I am so amazed by the awesome response this fic have gotten. You guys are so cool, and so nice, and I’m really thankful that you’ve stuck with me and this story this whole time.
> 
> Okay, last chapter, here we go!

  
“Peter I love you.”

Peter caught his breath. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t ever imagined those words from this person, and for a moment he was lost. He had never realized how much he _wanted_ them before.

But Beck was a fool if he thought he could still play with his emotions like this. Tony didn’t love him. Tony didn’t even care. Peter knew, but he couldn’t stop the tears from welling up again at the thought. 

Maybe he’d rather stay in the illusion for a while, even though he knew. He could have this, just for a minute. But no, Tony was about to hurt him or abandon him or die horribly in front of him, and he couldn’t watch any of that again.

“This isn’t real.” Peter almost sobbed aloud over the words, but he turned away. Away from the only thing he wanted in the world. It was only an illusion, but he held his breath so Tony wouldn’t see him cry.

“No, Pete, look at me.” A hand turned him toward Tony again. “This is real.” Tony took his hand and held it tightly in his own. “It’s real.”

There was a confusion of voices, and more people came in through the broken door. An Asian lady whose clothing and bag suggested she was a doctor hurried toward them, but Peter knew better. This was the part where Tony let her take him away and experiment on him, or where Tony tried to defend him and got killed. Peter shrank back in the chair and closed his eyes.

“Wait, you’re scaring him.”

Peter peeked out again to see Tony waving the doctor away.

“You wanted me to check on him as soon as possible.” She looked impatient.

“Give us a minute.” Tony turned back to him and his eyes were wide- Peter had never seen him look like that- almost like he was pleading with him. Gently, he reached up to brush Peter’s unwashed curls off his forehead. “It’s real, kid. You’re safe.”

He looked so kind. So _sad_ that Peter didn’t believe him. Couldn’t believe him.

“It’s not!” Peter choked out. He couldn’t let himself fall for it now, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

He didn’t want to cry in front of “Tony” either. Beck would use that.

“Peter.” Tony’s hand moved to the back of his head, cradling it. “Kid please, please don’t do this.”

His hand was solid on Peter’s neck, holding him steady. It felt secure, and that was wrong. It was all wrong. He shouldn’t feel safe here.

“You’re not real.” The words felt like poison, and Peter sobbed weakly after they left his mouth. He didn’t want to. He wanted this to be real. 

Tony looked so broken, and he hated himself for causing that, but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t him, it would never be him, and Peter finally broke down.

He wanted to hide, but he wasn’t sure if the restraints were really gone or not, and he didn’t want to check. So he simply bowed his head and wept, quietly, hopelessly, gasping weakly while the tears ran down his face.

Hands pulled him forward out of the chair and he let them, sliding boneless to the floor. He didn’t hit the floor, though, instead he was pulled into Tony’s lap, tucked underneath his chin and wrapped up tightly. He curled up and made himself as small as possible in the man’s hold.

Tony was rocking them gently back and forth, running his fingers through his hair and whispering nice-sounding things like _it’s real, I’m here, you’re okay_ , and Peter just cried. He didn’t even know why he was crying anymore, but he felt so helpless and the arms that held him felt so _safe_ , that there was nothing else he could do.

“I’m here, Pete.” Tony’s chest vibrated slightly with his words. “I love you.”

There it was again. Peter buried himself in Tony’s shoulder. He had no idea if it was real, but it was just so comforting that he couldn’t help it.

A familiar scent enveloped him: metal and grease and fancy aftershave, with just a hint of burned. It smelled like the lab. It smelled like Tony. It smelled _safe_.

Something broke, and a painful sob wrenched up from deep in Peter’s chest. More followed, and he anchored his fingers in Tony’s shirt and held on. Real or not, he never wanted to let go.

“I got you kid.” Tony was still holding him tightly. “You don’t have to believe me right now, but you’re safe. May’s waiting for you, and I’ll make sure this asshole can’t ever touch you again.”

Peter’s fingers ached with clinging on, and he tried to take breaths of that reassuring scent, terrified it would disappear if he didn’t breathe it in deeply enough.

“Hey.” Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s temple. “Would an illusion do that?”

Peter couldn’t answer. He just held on.

“That’s okay,” Tony barely whispered over his head. “It’s okay.”

That became a mantra of sorts, repeated over and over again as he was held gently but so tightly against a beating heart. Real or not, safe or not, Peter’s sobs quieted slowly, until they were mere sniffles against Tony’s shoulder. He felt worn out. Spent. He still wasn’t certain, but he didn’t have the energy to manage more than a wet shudder at the thought.

A second kiss was pressed to the top of his head, and something wet fell into his hair.

”You’re crying?”

“Yeah, I’m crying.” Tony’s voice was thick, and he made no effort to hide it.

Some strange impulse told Peter to reach up, and he did, placing his hand on Tony’s cheek and feeling it wet with tears. He struggled free just far enough to look at him, and Tony offered him a watery smile.

Carefully, Peter traced the tear tracks with his fingers, feeling where they matched exactly with what he saw. He felt the lines of Tony’s face, the hair on his jaw. Tony closed his eyes and let him feel his damp lashes.

“Mr. Stark?” He could barely speak. He could barely breathe.

“It’s me.” Tony covered the hand on his face with his own.

“Are you really real?”

“I’m really real.”

Peter launched himself back into Tony’s arms, clinging on with all his might.

“Kid, _kid_.” Tony hugged him back, pressing even more kisses to his cheek, and the feeling was foreign but nice. “ _Peter_.”

Peter just held tighter. He breathed in the smell of the lab and Tony and safe, feeling the man trembling slightly under his arms, feeling his breathing against his own.

“You came?” he found himself asking in a small voice.

“Of course I did.” Tony gathered him closer. “I’ll always come for you, Pete.”

“I thought-“

 _I thought you didn’t care. I thought you_ _hated me._ Those felt so wrong to say, especially when he was being held so kindly. He didn’t want to risk offending Tony, either, just in case.

“Shh.” Tony gently pulled his head against his chest and held it there. “I know. I saw.”

Peter’s mind felt like it was whirling in circles, and he was being carried right along with it, grasping for anything solid to hold on to but finding only mist and shadows. He curled into Tony’s embrace anyway. It felt safe there, and that was all he wanted to hope for at the moment.

He closed his eyes and let himself go limp. Tony didn’t push him away. He didn’t strike him or turn into something horrible and attack him. Nothing happened to him. He just held Peter and rocked him slowly. Peter never wanted to leave.

“We need to let Helen look at you now, just to be sure you’re okay,” said Tony finally.

Peter didn’t let go.

“I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

After some coaxing, Peter allowed himself to be persuaded to sit next to Tony, practically glued to his side, while the doctor (Helen?) examined him. Tony held his hand, and he found himself running his own hands over and over the larger one to be sure it was real.

“What’s this?” Helen pointed to the cuff on Peter’s wrist, the drug bracelet, as he had named it. The one that kept his strength at bay. He looked at Tony.

“She’s safe.”

“Drugs,” said Peter. “Makes me not strong.” The skin around it was red and inflamed, beginning to scab over from his attempts to get it off.

“We’ll take that off back at the med bay, just in case you have any kind of negative reaction.” Helen was putting some kind of ointment on his scratched wrist and the cut on his head from where he ran into the wall. “You’re doing well, Peter.”

“Thanks.” Peter squished himself closer into Tony’s side. He wanted the bracelet off now.

Tony wasn’t looking at him, instead watching Victoria and Janice being taken away by a pair of agents. Guterman was still passed out against the wall. William was nowhere to be seen; if Rhodey had really blown up the controls, he had probably gone with them. The only one left was Beck, pinned down by Tony’s suit. Two agents were standing over him apparently at a loss for how to remove it.

“Hey hey hey, wait!” Tony called out to them. “Leave that one to me.”

“Sir?” said one.

“ _I_ don’t think we can do that,” said the other.

“I think you can.” Tony’s voice was almost a growl, and it was honestly a little scary. Peter shivered.

“That’s not-“

Tony started to get up, and a jolt of alarm shot through Peter. He was going to get up and leave, and then he would disappear, and it wouldn’t be real. None of it would be real. Tony couldn’t leave, he couldn’t go, it had to be real. Peter whimpered and wrapped himself around the man’s arm.

“All right.” There was a hand carefully stroking his hair. “Okay Underoos, you win, I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter buried his face into Tony’s arm.

“I was going to make sure he knows how it feels,” said Tony quietly. “I’d kill him for you.”

Peter only tightened the hold he had gained on his arm. “Don’t go.”

“I’m staying right here.”

Feeling slightly more secure, Peter peeked out of hiding just in time to see Tony’s suit swing its fist at Beck’s head. He let out a scared noise, but he couldn’t move, and the metal fist made contact with a thud. His head lolled limp to one side, eyes closed, and the suit stepped back.

“Whoops,” said Tony, as the two agents moved to collect Beck from the floor.

Peter watched. He looked strangely small now, no longer laughing or threatening, with blood running down the side of his face.

“Is he dead?” he whispered without thinking.

“Just knocked out.” Tony gave Peter a small smile. Then it vanished, and his eyes followed Beck and the agents all the way to the door. He let out a sigh when they disappeared from view, and Peter wondered what he had been planning to do. “We should get you home, kid.”

Home sounded good. Peter nodded, suddenly realizing how exhausted he was. He held tightly to Tony’s arm just to keep himself upright.

“Happy’s got a car waiting, and we’ll take you back to the tower. May’s there, and then we’ll get that drug thing off you. Okay?”

“Okay.” Peter almost started crying again thinking about May. He was so ready to go home.

Tony didn’t even ask if he needed to be carried, he just guided Peter’s arms around his neck and picked him up, staggering to his feet with a grunt. “Maybe Cap was right about the armor.”

Peter couldn’t find the energy within himself to ask what he meant. He simply laid his head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It had to be real, he thought, as Tony carried him out into the bright, cold air. It had gone on too long for an illusion, surely. Too many details, too. Tony’s tears, the smell of the lab that clung to him, the way his chest vibrated exactly with the words when he spoke... surely, _surely_ it was real.

Peter thought he might die if it wasn’t.

It kept being real while Tony climbed awkwardly into the car with Peter still in his arms, and while he put him on the seat next to him, and while he fastened him in and told Happy they were ready to go. Tony made him drink water even though he wasn’t actually very thirsty, and the practically nonexistent road made him spill a good amount of it all down the front of his shirt. Beck’s shirt, actually. It was cold.

Tony pulled him close again, wet shirt and all, and Peter melted into his side. His eyes were beginning to slip closed, but he didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to wake up back in the silo with Beck standing over him and realize this was all a dream.

“You can sleep,” said Tony. “I’ll be here.”

Peter blinked, still fighting, even as his head dropped to Tony’s shoulder of its own accord.

“We’ll make a code,” said Tony as if he had sensed his thoughts. He patted his arm. “Give me something to say when you wake up, something nobody else would think of. Like pumpernickel.”

“Wha?” Peter mumbled.

“Just a weird word, or something you pick out, so you can be sure it’s still me.”

“Hmm.” Peter couldn’t think of a good word. Nothing as weird as pumpernickel, anyway. His head felt heavier on Tony’s shoulder. “Tell me something only you would know.”

With that, he couldn’t stay awake a moment longer, and crashed into sleep.

~

“He out?” Said Happy in the rear view mirror.

“Yeah.”   
  
Tony craned his neck to look at Peter, sound asleep on his shoulder. The kid was a dead weight against his side, draped there like an exceptionally heavy blanket, even his arm flopped completely limp across Tony’s lap after giving up its hold on his shirt. There were dark circles under his eyes, even as he slept.

Tony couldn’t take his eyes off him, almost like he might disappear if he looked away even for a second. Peter slept, finally safe, nestled under Tony’s arm. He held still, not wanting to disturb the boy, but he would have liked to gather him closer and hug him as tightly as possible again, until Peter knew he was safe, too.

The car went over a bump, and Peter’s head flopped forward in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable for his neck. Tony eased it back onto his shoulder, but it didn’t stay, so he cupped Peter’s forehead in his hand to hold it steady. He didn’t so much as stir, but he mumbled something anxious in his sleep.

Tony was going to see if he couldn’t still get his hands on Quentin Beck.

~

Waking up happened slowly. It was bright, brighter than Peter would have expected, and he scrunched his eyes further closed.

He wasn’t sure where he was, but it was warm, and he had a vague but strangely certain feeling of being protected. It was nice, and he didn’t inquire further.

There was something over his forehead, warm and steady and comforting. It felt like a hand. That was strange. Why was there a hand on his forehead? Peter frowned and started to sit up.

He stopped. He was in a car, snuggled under Tony Stark’s arm.

Not in a silo. Not chained to a chair in the dark. Beck was nowhere to be seen.

Peter’s heart began to race, and he sat up, away from Tony. It couldn’t be real. Could it? He remembered Tony crashing in to save him yet again, and watching Beck squirm underneath a vengeful suit, and being hugged and kissed (did he remember that part right?) and carried to a car.

Had Tony said he loved him, too? Maybe that part was a dream. Maybe he was still in the dream.

Peter frowned again. Nothing made sense, and he was still so tired.

“Hey kid,” said Tony. “You wanted to hear something only I would know?”

Yes, Peter remembered saying that. His heart sped impossibly faster, and he nodded.

“Do you remember the time we almost blew up the lab?”

“Which one?”

“Fair point. The best one, when DUM-E got fed up and chased me down with the fire extinguisher purely out of spite, and you were NO help whatsoever.”

Peter wrapped his arm tightly across Tony’s chest and held on, closing his eyes. He felt weak.

“It’s me, kid.” Tony smoothed his hair. “It’s still real.”

Peter’s throat felt too tight to speak.

“We’re going home now, and he’s already locked up. You’re safe.”

It was so good. Almost too good to be true. Something gnawed at the back of Peter’s mind, one last doubt.

“In the lab, when I knocked over the stuff, and you said... you told me to get out, was that...”

“Not real.” Tony smoothed his hair again, softly, and Peter could feel his heart beating hard and fast. “And you don’t have to believe me on that- hell, I can’t imagine what this is all doing to your mind right now- but I have to tell you anyway.”

Tears prickled behind Peter’s eyes, but they stayed there. He didn’t think he had the energy to cry anymore today.

“God, kid.”

Peter agreed. He nodded against Tony’s chest. It was real. He was real. At least for now, he felt almost certain. It was a good feeling.

“Mr. Stark?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“You really love me?”

“I really love you.”

Peter heaved a shaky sigh and closed his eyes. He felt safe, really, actually safe, for the first time in what felt like it had been ages. It was real. It had to be real.  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading. You are so wonderful, and I’m going to miss your lovely comments so much.
> 
> Love y’all!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> Please do not copy, print, or reproduce outside this site, I don’t want to get sued.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [This Is Real](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975905) by [An_Odd_Idea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_Odd_Idea/pseuds/An_Odd_Idea)




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